Through a Child's Eyes
by foreverHenry919
Summary: A visit to a possible witness in a closed case brings Henry in contact with a child who seems to know more about him than even Abe; or Adam. But how? And how will he explain the strange things the child says about him to his colleagues?
1. Through a Child's Eyes Ch 1

It had been a routine outing for NYPD Detectives Jo Martinez and Mike Hanson to interview a potential witness after Officer Delia Beard, assigned to answering the 11th Precinct's hotline, had passed an urgent message to them about a closed case.

Forty-five minutes earlier:

 _"A kid?" Jo had said, frowning at the hastily-scrawled note. "Sure this isn't a prank?"_

 _"Normally, I would think that," Officer Beard had replied. "But I'm familiar with this particular kid from when I worked the 2-4 a couple of years ago."_

 _"What, you're saying she's some kind of psychic or something?" Jo had asked, grabbing her jacket._

 _"Whatever she is," Beard had replied, "she's legit. Helped us on a few cases that had stumped us."_

vvvv

The two detectives waited outside the door of a brownstone with a charming, bow-front window and intricate, 19th-century carvings on an idyllic, tree-lined street just off of Central Park West. The door was soon opened by a woman in her early 60's with a world-weary expression.

"Yes?" she asked, squinting suspiciously at them. They flashed their badges and identified themselves and she frowned before asking why they were there. That no one had called for the police.

"We beg to differ, ma'am," Jo told her. "Someone did call our tip hotline this morning. A young girl named - "

" - Glenda," the woman sighed out in frustration, shaking her head. Then, quickly schooling her features in a vain effort to appear more cheery, she said, "M-my granddaughter does things like that, calling the police about ... weird things that just seem to pop into her head." She let out a disingenuous laugh as she spoke and told them, "My name is Glenda Haley. She's, uh, named after me. Darling girl but I will make sure that she's appropriately dealt with for bothering you people with her little prank."

Mrs. Haley tried to close the door but Mike put his hand up to prevent that. "If you don't mind, Mrs. Haley, we'd like to decide for ourselves whether it was a prank or not. Let us in, please."

Mrs. Haley reluctantly nodded and let them in. "She's here in the living room," she told them with a wave of her hand to the left of the entrance way.

As they entered the cozy room decorated with flowery-upholstered, wood furniture and photos and bric-a-brac on nearly every shelf and table space, a young girl of nine or ten sat in the middle of the long sofa and smiled as they approached her. Her bright, green eyes sparkled but appeared to focus on nothing as she stared straight ahead. Officer Beard had given them the heads up that the girl was legally blind.

"You're the cops," she piped at them. "Don't let my grandmother bother you. She's just always worried about me."

They sat on either side of her and Mike let Jo take the lead in questioning her. He was a father but not the father of a little girl and he didn't want to spook her. He really wasn't convinced, either, that they weren't wasting their time by following up on this particular lead.

"That's right, Glenda," Jo replied. "I'm Det. Jo Martinez of the NYPD and this is my partner, Det. Mike Hanson. We're here to follow up on your phone call to our tip hotline this morning. Can you tell me more about the people you saw? The, um, man who was hurting the other man?"

"It happened a long time ago," Glenda replied. "I wasn't even born yet."

Jo frowned and looked worriedly at Mike, then back at the red-haired, freckle-faced girl. "If it happened before you were born, did somebody else tell you about it?"

"Nope," she replied and heaved a big sigh. "I see things. A lotta times I don't understand what I see but when it's clearer like this was, I let the police know now so they can go get the bad guys." Neither detective responded, not wanting to point out her sightless condition.

"Yeah, I know, I'm blind," Glenda told them as if reading their thoughts. "But if you'll just check it out, you'll find out that I'm right. Didn't Officer Beard and the captain at the 24th Precinct tell you that I had a pretty good track record helping them solve crimes? I'll bet I'm the youngest in the country. Maybe even the world."

"Um, yes, yes, they did tell us," Jo replied. The memory of Henry once telling her when they'd first met of his own pretty good track record came back to her. But this was a child in front of her. "Could you tell us again exactly what it was that you ... saw?"

Glenda sighed again but her smile broadened. "It's more like a dream. I just start seeing stuff and people are talking. I can see them, you know, like you see stuff in your dream. If everything's clear, then I know it's something that really happened. If it's in black and white, it happened long, long time ago. If it's in color, it's more recent." She shrugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Simple as that." She blinked several times and raised her head as if recalling a memory.

"This was a man in an alley. Looked like an alley. It was dark. They were arguing but one was pointing a gun at the other man, who looked scared with his hands up. The man with the gun told the scared-looking man that it was nothing personal, that he was just following orders. Then he said, 'Sorry, Norm. You should have never crossed ... " The girl stopped speaking and frowned.

"Crossed whom?" Jo asked. "Did you hear the name?"

"No, but I saw some letters," Glenda replied, clearly frustrated.

"What were the letters, hon?" Mike asked.

"D-e-l-g-r-o-s," she replied.

Both Jo and Mike froze at the spelling of the name that belonged to a man they'd put away a couple of years ago for attempting to bribe someone running for city office. The same man, Tommy Delgros, who was the prime suspect in having ordered a bodega owner, Sergio, to murder the manager of a community center, Raul, in order to pave the way for his own construction project.

"I don't know how to pronounce that," Glenda told them. "But the man with the gun twisted the other man around so that he faced the wall and told him to get on his knees and told him to keep his hands up. Then he put the gun in the other man's hand real quick and made him shoot himself in the side of his head. He walked away real quick after that and just ... left him there."

Mike looked at Jo then back at the girl. "How is it you 'see' if you're ... blind?" he managed to ask.

"I told you, it's like a dream or maybe sometimes like a movie right in front of me." She sighed and looked a little sad for a moment. "Sometimes I wish I could see like I used to. Like everyone else and not this stuff where people are hurting each other. People don't always understand and ... they don't let their kids play with me," she quietly told them. "Sometimes we have to move so that people won't hurt me or take me away."

"We have moved a few times in the past three years," Mrs. Haley told them. "Ever since - " She stopped herself, looking down at her granddaughter and then back at them. "We like it here. We've had no problems for the past six months," she said. "It would be nice if, if all this could be kept quiet so we could stay here for a while."

They were moved by the pleading tone in her voice. "We will do all we can to not upset your life here, Mrs. Haley," Jo assured her.

"We'll be leaving now," Mike told them. They said their goodbyes and turned to leave, giving their cards to Mrs. Haley. "This is how you can reach either one of us."

"Hope you catch 'im," Glenda said.

Her grandmother followed them outside and closed the front door. She turned to them with a concerned look on her face and said, "The poor darling started 'seeing' these things soon after she lost her sight. Hysterical blindness, the doctors said, but that was more than three years ago."

"What happened to cause her to lose her sight?" Jo asked.

"Her parents died in a small plane crash in 2013," she told them. "Thank God, Glenda was home with me or she'd have been killed with them." The woman shook her head, wringing her hands. "Once we managed to tell her that her parents weren't coming back home, she woke up one day unable to see. The ... dreams or ... visions started a few weeks after that." She shook her head again. "I just don't understand any of it."

vvvv

"Delgros is doing four years in Otisville for his attempted bribery conviction in 2015," Mike said as they drove back to the precinct.

"But he has a parole hearing next week," Jo reminded him. "If we can connect him to that hit that little Glenda 'saw', he'll never get out."

Because he'd been able to elude being charged with ordering Raul's murder, his slap-on-the-wrist conviction and sentencing for attempting to bribe a political candidate for city office were of little consolation to either of them or to Henry. His shady lawyer had even been able to help him avoid getting the maximum sentence of 25 years in jail.

"Got it," Jo announced. Mike left his desk and quickly joined her at hers as they studied the information on her computer screen. "Norman Richards, 2002. Gunshot to the head. His body was found by a sanitation worker in an alley behind a Delancey Street restaurant in the lower east side. Ruled a suicide."

"Who was the ME?" Mike asked. "Washington was here back then, wasn't he?"

Jo grinned at the mention of the many times errant ME. "Well, he was on the job at that time, but the ME was Lorraine Harper." She looked despondently at Mike and sighed.

"What?" he asked.

"Harper retired seven years ago. I attended her retirement dinner," she told him. "I was someone's date," she explained at his look of confusion. "That's all I'm saying. The meal was the only enjoyable part of that evening."

"Okay. The pre-Sean era," Mike said, chuckling.

"That's all I'm saying," she repeated more emphatically. "Anyway, looks like Delgros has been dealing in dirt well before Raul's murder."

Mike made note of the 2002 address on Delancey Street. "That location is still a restaurant. A deli. Any chance of exhuming Richards' body?"

"Dang!" Jo hissed. "He was cremated two days after his death was declared a suicide."

"What about the weapon?" Mike asked.

A huge smile broke out on her face. "Thank goodness for whatever incompetent jerk handled this weapon in the Evidence Locker." She turned to Mike, still grinning. "It's still there."

vvvv

In the OCME, Dr. Henry Morgan and his young assistant, Lucas Wahl mulled over the results of their examination of the weapon connected to the Richards case from 2002. That is, Henry mulled over the results in his office while Lucas sat at his workstation awaiting his very astute boss' conclusions.

"The results confirm the original report from 2002 that shows the deceased held the weapon in his left hand," Henry finally stated. He had exited his office holding the file with the reports in it. "Autopsy reports from that time confirmed the presence of gunshot residue on his left hand on the left side of his head, neck, and shoulder."

"So ... nothing new to report?" Lucas asked.

"Not initially, no," Henry replied, his mind sorting things out under a furrowed brow. He suddenly closed the file and placed it on Lucas' workstation. "Lucas, stand up, please."

"Wha-what for?" he asked, then closed his eyes, groaning as Henry guided him to a spot and stepped away from him. "Am I to play the part of the victim again?"

"We want to explore every possibility, Lucas, of how Mr. Richards met his end," he informed him. "And, yes, you are to be the victim again. Fortunately, you are approximately the same height, build, and age as the deceased was."

"Yeah, how fortunate," Lucas wryly stated.

"Which only means that we do not have to make any special accommodations for this reenactment," Henry explained. "I believe that I am also the same height and build as the murderer."

"So, you do believe he was murdered?" Lucas asked, intrigued. "Why?"

"Because of the fingerprints on the gun," Henry replied.

Confused, Lucas repeated, "Yeah, his fingerprints on the gun."

"But, Lucas, the most important one, the one on the trigger, is not his."

Lucas turned to look over his shoulder at Henry. "But if he didn't actually pull the trigger ... "

" ... someone else did," Henry finished his thought for him. "Examination of Richards' body at the time should have included a search for fingerprints on his hand. At least, that's what I would have done. It is my belief that someone else forced the gun into Richards' hand and squeezed the trigger close to his head; giving the appearance of Richards having administered the gunshot himself. It would have been impossible, though, for him to have found the strength to pull the trigger at all."

"Why is that?" Jo's voice broke into their conversation and they both turned around to see her entering the morgue. She'd come down to find out if they'd come up with anything new regarding the Richards case. She'd also chosen not to tell them anything about what the little girl, Glenda, had 'seen'.

"Detective, how nice to see you again," Henry greeted her. "We were just about to reenact how I believe Norman Richards was murdered."

"Murdered. Okay," she said. "Don't let me stop you." It was always fun to watch their quirky ME walk them through one of his proposed scenarios. How does he do it? she wondered. How is he able to 'see' so much that others miss?

"And to answer your earlier question," Henry began, "we'll demonstrate."

He and Lucas went through the scenario in Henry's head that appeared to mirror what the young girl had told Mike and her earlier. She marveled at the near-accuracy of it all and asked, "Are you sure? Because Lorraine Harper was one of the best ME's who ever worked here and she ruled his death to be a suicide."

Henry spun around to face her. "Think about it, though. Why would a person leave their home to end their life in some deserted alley? Most people simply kill themselves in their own home; a gun being the weapon of choice for most men. Also, the bones in Richards' left hand and wrist showed disfigurement from advanced rheumatoid arthritis. He would not have been able to stretch his fingers out, let alone grip anything or pull the trigger on that gun. And the actual print on the trigger was not his."

Jo's eyes grew wider. "Wow. Um, if that was the case, then why would Harper not have noticed that, too?"

"I have no idea," Henry replied. "She was one of the best. An oversight on her part, I suppose."

Jo nodded, biting her lower lip. The thought of the respected ME having botched the COD in the Richards case disappointed her personally but professionally, it angered her. It meant that a murderer was still out there and they had been mistakenly forced to sit on their hands while he roamed free, most likely racking up other victims.

"Is it enough to reopen the case, though?" she pondered out loud.

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that it's enough to at least change the COD from suicide," Henry told her. He tilted his head to the side and studied her for a few moments. "You don't appear to be surprised, Detective. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. Why is that? And what is it that you have failed to share with me?"

Doesn't anything escape your all-seeing eye? she wondered to herself. She could almost be angry with him if he weren't so cute with that smug, lopsided smile of his. "I wanted to see what you came up with before sharing our new information with you."

"Uh, I can get up now, right, guys?" Lucas asked.

"Oh, sorry, Lucas, yes, by all means," Henry replied, chuckling. "Please place this file back into the drawers." Lucas rose and took it from Henry and walked over to refile it. Henry turned back to Jo and motioned toward his office. He followed her inside and he sat down behind his desk while she perched on the edge of it, facing the windows with her arms crossed. She then shared with him what the little girl, Glenda, had told Mike and her earlier that day.

"Sorry to have kept you in the dark," she told him. "But this whole thing is so bizarre, such a departure from the norm, that I wanted to see if you could come up with anything to lend any credence to her claim." She unfolded her arms and left her perch, walking over to take a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk. "Looks like you did. What you and Lucas reenacted mirrors almost exactly what she told us that she 'saw'."

Despite his secret of immortality also being a departure from the norm, he remained skeptical. He'd encountered other so-called mediums and spiritualists before. None of the ones he'd met had ever been able to see into his soul, as they'd all claimed they could do. None of them had been able to "see" how long he had lived. "Are you certain that she was not a witness or not simply relating what someone else had told her?"

"Pretty sure," Jo replied. "Richards died in 2002. She wasn't born until four years later. And the captain over at the 2-4 swears by her. Captain Swain says that this kid, Glenda, has helped them solve several murder cases over the past three years. And if you've ever met Captain Swain, you know that he's a lot like Mike. A real meat-and-potatoes kinda guy, a show-me-the-money kinda guy, a hard-working, down-to-earth - "

"I see your point, Detective," Henry said, interrupting her. "Well. I shall submit my findings in a report to the good Lieutenant and we'll see what happens after that."

vvvv

"Absolutely not!" Lt. Reece told them, shaking her head over their protests. "If Captain Swain wants to run his unit like they're in the X-Files, that's his business. This unit acts on facts, not hocus pocus."

"Well, what about Henry's determination," Jo asserted, "that it would have been impossible for Richards to have even gripped that gun he was killed with, therefore - " Reece cut her off before she could finish.

" - therefore, based on that fact and that fact alone," Reece said, pausing to take a breath, "will I allow you to reopen the case." She scoffed and placed the report back into the file and handed it to Jo. "I trust Henry. Not some pint-sized version of the Long Island Medium."

Jo walked out of Reece's office and over to her own desk where Mike and Henry had been waiting anxiously for her.

"Well?" Mike asked. "Do we got the green light?"

"Yes," she replied. "But we only have a week to come up with the killer. Delgros goes up before the parole board next Friday."

"That gives us only a little more than a week," Mike said, frowning.

"Then the sooner we get started the better," Henry stated. "Let's go catch us a killer."

vvvv

Notes:

Information on brownstones in NY found at gallerylist/70506/new-york-city-brownstones

References to "Forever" TV show S01/E05 The Pugilist Break


	2. Through a Child's Eyes Ch 2

With Lt. Reece's approval to reopen the Richards case for a limited time, Henry, Jo, and Mike brainstormed on how to proceed to catch his killer. The fact that there were no eyewitnesses other than little Glenda's vision of it, was just one problem. Because the little girl had lost her sight at such a young age, they felt that she lacked the sophistication to be able to effectively describe the killer's likeness to their forensic artist.

"Wouldn't the perp have wound up with a lot of blood and matter on himself? Glenda said the killer just walked away. You're telling me that nobody saw a man with bloody clothes just walking down the street?" Jo asked.

"It is New York, Jo," Mike reminded her with a cynical grin. "And it was dark."

"Nobody reacted to a gunshot," Jo stated more than asked. "Never mind," she said, swiping a hand away from her. "New York. Most people would have just closed their ears and chosen not to get involved." She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"He could have come prepared for any of that," Henry stated. "A silencer was used and he may have even changed his clothing."

Mike chuckled again, skeptical. "You mean he stashed some clothes somewhere in case he needed them later?"

"Possibly," Henry replied. "He could have changed clothing somewhere along the way, discarding the blood-stained ones."

"Who would take the time to do something like that?" Mike asked.

Henry knew all too well who would take the time to do something like that. Immortals trying to avoid being arrested after another naked awakening and, apparently, criminals. Adam was both.

"I have to admit, Henry, I never heard of that, either," Jo said in apparent agreement with Mike. "Except in spy novels," she added with a smile and a shrug.

"Well, we're just ... exploring probabilities," Henry offered. He thought it best to change the subject. "Perhaps we could still try to have the child work with the forensic artist here. What have we to lose?"

The two detectives nodded in agreement. "I'll contact her grandmother to set up a time," Jo said. Her two partners waited while she called and spoke with Mrs. Haley. After a few minutes, the call ended and Jo hung up, biting her lower lip. Both men recognized that particular idiosyncrasy of hers that manifested itself when she was presented with something that might be unpleasant or unexpected.

"Glenda's grandmother would rather not bring her here but that's not exactly the problem," Jo haltingly told them. She looked uncertainly at Henry and breathed in and out deeply. "Glenda said that you, Henry, could give the description of the killer since ... "

Both men frowned, confused. "Since ... what?" Henry asked.

Jo took in and released another deep breath. "She said that the man who shot Richards looked a lot like the man who ... who shot you."

"That's impossible," Henry replied, shocked and confused. "Why, I was shot - " he caught himself before saying too much. " ... many years before Richards was."

"Could have been the same perp," Reece speculated. They hadn't noticed that she'd left her office to join them in the bullpen. Her eyes dropped to the area on his chest where the layers of his clothing hid the angry-looking scar beneath it. "I heard about that scar of yours," she continued. "Must have been a rough time for you." Her voice had softened with concern.

Mike's and Jo's eyes, as well, focused on where his scar lay. They remembered seeing it two years ago when they'd rescued him after Cliff Wadlow had kidnapped and tortured him.

"Figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would," Mike quietly told him. "But you would have been facing your attacker." What he didn't say was that Henry must have gotten a real good look at him.

Henry swallowed and looked from one to the other, feeling a bit cornered. Steady, boy. Steady, he told himself. They don't have to know the entire story. Just part of it. But how could this child know that he was shot? How could she know anything about him? Was this a part of one of Adam's fiendish little games meant to upset him and his life here in New York again? He dismissed that last thought since he knew that the deranged Immortal was still at Bellevue suffering from his locked-in syndrome.

He cleared his throat and replied, "Did little Glenda tell you that my aggressor was also the man who killed Richards?" He was looking for an opening, a hole in the little girl's story, a way to shed doubt on her purported abilities.

Jo looked at Mike and Reece, then back at Henry. "No. She very specifically said that they were not the same man. Just that they looked a lot alike. I almost thought," she said, pausing, "that maybe your attacker could be caught, too, but she said that he'd died before Richards was killed."

"Yes, he died soon after he shot me," Henry confirmed. How could she have known that? The only other people alive who knew about his first death were his son, Abe, and Adam. And he knew that Abe would never betray his trust and that Adam wouldn't, fearing discovery of his own secret.

"Yes," Jo said. "Glenda said he drowned when a ship he was on sank."

Henry swallowed, feeling his heart rate increase and his palms become sweaty. He paled but managed to sit down in the chair next to Jo's desk before his knees buckled.

"Are you okay, Henry?" Jo asked with her hand on his shoulder and motioning for Mike to bring him some water.

"I'm sure it would dredge up some pretty bad memories for you, Doctor," Reece told him. "But since the man who shot you is dead and can do you no further harm, and it just might help bring Mr. Richards' murderer to justice ... please consider helping us obtain some kind of composite drawing."

He drank the cool water from the small, round paper cup that Mike gave him and thanked Jo and him. "Yes. Very bad memories but ... it was a long time ago, so ... " He looked up at the Lieutenant and managed a weak smile. "Of course, I'll ... go now and see what we can do."

vvvv

The fingers of the forensic artist, Officer Ethan Mason, deftly and quickly worked over the computer keyboard in response to Henry's description of the man who had shot him. As the artist worked - decreasing the size of the eyes, receding the dark and thinning hair, adding jowls and wrinkles - the sinister face of the slave ship captain responsible for his first death gradually "came to life" on the computer screen and stared back at him. Seeing the man's face after more than two centuries nearly stopped his heart again.

Satisfied that the task was finished, Ofc. Mason turned the monitor more toward Henry and asked, "That him?" Henry simply nodded.

"Okay, we'll put this image through FRS and try to match it up with a perp," Mason informed him. "Could take a while. We'll let you know if and when we get a hit."

Although he wanted to, he found it hard to look away from the man's face on the screen. The long-ago memory came back to him, prompting long-ago, unanswered questions to resurrect themselves, as well. What if, he thought, he had complied with the captain's order to step aside and allow his men to throw the ill slave overboard? Would that dishonorable act have condemned him later to an eternity in Hades but saved him from an eternal walk on earth? Jo placed her hand on his shoulder and brought him out of his dark imaginings.

"C'mon, Henry," she said with a sympathetic smile. "Let me take you home."

vvvv

Abe stood behind his father as he sat at the kitchen table and kneaded the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders. "Sorry you had to go through that, Pops." Jo had called him from the precinct to give him a heads up for when Henry returned home; that he might be a little down.

"I appreciate that, Abraham," Henry told him. "And thank you for the scones. They really do help to lift my spirits. But how did you know that I had sat with the forensic artist?"

"Jo called me," he replied. "She was worried about you. Wanted to make sure that you were properly comforted once you got home." Abe patted his shoulder and began clearing the dinner dishes away and placing them in the sink. "You know, I think that if you'd let her - "

"Abe ... " Henry said in a warning tone.

"I'm just saying, Dad, that she obviously cares about you and you care about her - "

"Jo and I are just partners. Friends," Henry explained. "Naturally, we look out for each other."

"Oh, naturally," Abe repeated while rolling his eyes and avoiding his father's disapproving stare.

The landline phone rang and Henry rose to answer it. "Hello? ... Jo. Hello, ah ... " He looked over his shoulder at his smirking son and shook his head. "What can I do for you, Detective?" His shoulders cringed as he listened to her. "Alright. Thank you, Jo." He hung up the phone and grabbed his coat and scarf, putting them on.

"What's up?" Abe asked him.

"They were able to match the composite to a man named Thomas Hilliard. He has a long list of priors, mostly petty theft, aggravated assault. Jo's coming over to pick me up so we can go question him."

"Have fun with that," Abe told him.

vvvv

Hilliard wasn't at his listed place of residence in Brooklyn. His mother, who had answered the door with his father hovering behind her, informed them that he worked as a bouncer around the corner at a local bar where his girlfriend worked as a bartender.

"He couldn't meet a nice girl who helped him get a nice job, no," his aged father complained. "Always the rough stuff, the rough life for him. If you're here to arrest him again, tell him don't call us because we're not bailin' him out anymore!"

"Father knows best," Jo smirked as they walked around the corner to the bar called The Green Door.

Henry chuckled at the bar's name. When Jo asked if he was familiar with the spot, he replied that he wasn't. "Just reminds me of a popular song of the same name that came out in 1956. They sang about wanting to but not being able to get beyond the club's green door. But we should have no problem once you flash your shiny badge at them."

"Glad your sense of humor has returned," she told him while she flashed her shiny badge to the muscle-bound man standing outside the door. "Det. Jo Martinez, NYPD. This is my partner, Dr. Henry Morgan from the OCME. We're here to speak with a man named Thomas Hilliard. We were told he works here as a bouncer."

"Oh, H," the man replied. "We call him H. He's inside but," he paused to laugh. "Whoever told you he 'works' here is dreamin'. He's only here to keep an eye on his next drink and his girl." He pushed the door open and stepped aside, allowing them entrance.

Their eyes adjusted to the dim light and roamed over the sparsely-populated room, settling on a man matching Hilliard's description seated at the bar nursing a drink. As they approached him, Henry's mouth went dry and his heart rate increased. The closer they got to the man, memories of his first death came back to him. The captain's warning voice; the gunshot; the incredible pain in his chest; and the freezing waters of the Atlantic.

The man the bouncer called H slowly turned his face to them, eyeing them suspiciously. Those eyes. Those cold eyes full of greed and hatred. They were the same. Henry began to feel ill. He told himself that it was a mistake for him to have come with Jo. That she should have brought Mike instead. But he refused to abandon her. He was here now. Placing his hand on the edge of the bar to steady himself, he swallowed several times and forced himself to focus on the man. He had to remain alert and be Jo's backup.

"Thomas Hilliard?" she asked, showing her badge to him. "Det. Jo Martinez, NYPD. This is my partner, Dr. Henry Morgan."

"Guess I'm not the big, bad wolf I used to be if the NYPD is sending out little girls and pretty boys to harass me now," he scoffed. "Gimme another one," he called to the bartender and his supposed girlfriend, who dispassionately refilled his whiskey glass.

"Well, this 'little girl' has some big questions for you," she pointedly told him. "We can either do it here or downtown. Your choice."

"Ooo, always this tough, honey?" Hilliard asked, chuckling.

"It's Detective, blockhead!" she said, raising her voice. "I'm not your little girl or your honey. Get it?"

He raised both hands up and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Detective," he responded, rising from his bar stool. Without warning, though, he rushed past her toward the door but Henry stuck his foot out and tripped him. Jo immediately pounced on him and cuffed him.

"Downtown, then," she wryly stated before calling for backup.

"You can't arrest me for being rude!" Hilliard growled.

"You're right," she told him. "But you shouldn't have tried to run so you're taking a little ride downtown with us. We little girls and pretty boys don't like it when people run from us," she sarcastically told him, prompting a lopsided grin from Henry.

Hilliard closed his eyes and groaned at the sound of sirens while Jo finished cuffing him and rose to her feet.

vvvv

11th Precinct, Interview Room ...

"I don't remember where I was that night," Hilliard replied to Jo's question but looking away from her. "That was over 15 years ago."

"Don't remember, huh?" she asked sarcastically. "Let me refresh your memory for you, then." She opened a manila folder and pulled out an 8x10 photo and pushed it over to him. "This you?"

He frowned, looking at the photo. "What's tha - I mean, no, that's not me."

"Sure looks like you," she told him. "You. Tommy Delgros, and ... lookie who this is: Norman Richards." She pointed to each smiling person in the photo as she spoke their names. "All of you so buddy-buddy sharing a table at the 2001 opening of a bar and grill on Delancey Street." She pinned her stare at him and crossed her arms. "Norman Richards' body was found in an alley behind that same bar and grill back in 2002."

Leaning forward to get in his face even more and to emphasize her point, she said, "The gun that killed him was found near his body but - "

"I heard he offed himself," Hilliard interrupted her. "Depressed people do that sometimes."

"But! Your print was on the trigger, not his. Which means you shot him trying to make it look like he'd done it himself but if you'd done your homework, you would have realized that he couldn't have held that gun. His arthritic condition would have prevented it."

Hilliard appeared stunned as worry and realization crossed over his features. "He was a southpaw but ... that's why he was fiddling with that fork, trying to feed himself with his right hand." He rolled his eyes upward and closed them, scoffing. "Try to do a favor for a friend, look what it gets you."

"What friend?" Jo asked. "What friend hired you to kill your other friend? What kind of friend would even do that?"

"A rich friend," Hilliard told her. "I haven't really benefitted from all of his wheelings and dealings like he promised," he muttered mostly to himself. Then, as if suddenly becoming aware of Jo's presence again, he looked at her and said, "Cut me a deal. I'll give you the name of the guy who hired me."

"Give me a name first," she countered. "Make it worth my while."

"Tommy Delgros," he responded smugly. "Is that worth your while?"

Jo turned in her chair and looked over her shoulder at the two-way mirror where Henry, Mike, and Reece were watching from the other side. She turned back around to Hilliard and pushed a yellow, legal pad and pencil to him. "More than you'll ever know. Write it down."

She started to get up from her chair but stopped when Hilliard asked a question.

"Say, what's up with that doctor partner of yours? He kept lookin' at me like ... I dunno, like ... like he knew me. But I never seen the guy before in my life." He looked up at her and added, "Keep him away from me. He gives me the creeps."

"I'm sure the feeling is mutual," she told him and left the room.

Reece and Mike didn't know what to add to what they'd already said to Henry as they'd all watched him deal with some obviously painful memories while Jo had questioned Hilliard. As the four of them walked down the hall on their way back to the bullpen, he remained silent and pensive while the other three discussed the next step in the case. That is, getting the information to Warden Petruccio at the Otisville facility in the town of Mt. Hope. It was decided that because of the late hour, Mike would head out the next morning to meet with the warden.

"Good work, all of you," Reece told them. "Get a good night's rest, Mike, in order to get an early start tomorrow morning. I'll call the Warden tonight to let him know to expect you. I'm sending you there with both written and taped copies of Hilliard's confession so that they won't get 'lost' just as some other documentation has in the past."

vvvv

"Why is Mike going out there alone tomorrow morning?" Henry asked her as she pulled up to the shop to drop him off. Earlier, he'd been too preoccupied with his own dark thoughts to ask the Lieutenant. If she'd provided a reason at the time, he'd missed it.

"Lieu thought that maybe you'd had enough of this case already," she replied. "Besides, Mike was the one who actually arrested Delgros and he threatened him back then, remember? Mike wants to see Delgros' face when he personally delivers the evidence to the warden derailing his parole."

"Along that vein," she continued hesitantly, "Glenda's grandmother called me. Glenda would like to meet you."

"Why?" Henry asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Why not?" Jo countered. "She's a sweet little girl, she just wants to meet Lieu and us since she'll most likely be contacting us in the future with other tips."

"Nothing personal but I'd rather not meet her," he said, undoing his seatbelt. "Please extend my apologies to her." He opened the car door and got out.

"You don't like kids?" Jo asked. She meant it teasingly but also had to admit that she was a bit surprised at his not wanting to meet the little girl. Well, more than surprised. And a bit disappointed.

"Quite the contrary, I happen to love children," he replied. _'But I love maintaining my secret more. And my sanity - or what's left of it.'_

"Good night, Detective."

"Good night, Henry."

vvvv

The next morning ...

"Give 'em hell, Pops," Abe called after his father as he headed off to work.

Henry paused halfway through the retail area and frowned at him over his shoulder.

Abe shrugged and explained, "Just trying to cheer you on. Looks like you need it after what you've been through."

"Thank you, son." He smiled appreciatively and continued on out of the shop.

Abe sighed, wishing a little peace, just a little bit of peace for his father, wearied from all he'd endured. His first wife's betrayal; his second wife's desertion; Adam's stalking him; and now a new threat in the form of a beguiling little girl with the ability to look into his soul, as he'd put it. He understood why his father had no desire to meet little Glenda. Who knows what else she might "see" concerning Henry's long life and innocently share it with others who had no idea that he was an Immortal.

He worriedly walked slowly toward the door considering more than one scenario that could prove detrimental to his father's safety and livelihood in New York if little Glenda continued to have other visions about Dad and his long life. Feeling very strongly that a heart-to-heart talk with her was necessary in order to get ahead of the curve, he flipped the sign to Closed, grabbed his jacket and car keys and left the shop, headed for Glenda's home.

From memory, he plugged Mrs. Glenda Haley's address into his car's GPS device and 20 minutes later found himself ringing the bell outside the brownstone.

vvvv

In the OCME, Henry was entertaining his own set of questions concerning the little girl. For one, if she had contacted Captain Swain at the 24th Precinct for the past three years, why was she now contacting Lt. Reece at the 11th? Only ... she hadn't contacted Swain directly, had she? The Tip Hotline. Officer Delia Beard. Could that connection mean something?

"Earth to Henry," Jo voiced with a smile as she entered his office in the morgue.

"Good morning, Detective," he smilingly greeted her. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

"Ohhh, you're going all 'Pride and Prejudice' on me," she retorted. "But I don't know how honored you're going to feel once you hear what I've come to tell you."

vvvv

"Abraham, how could you?" Henry loudly asked, frowning.

"I just thought I could help," he replied, raising his hands while walking away from his father and up the stairs to the second-floor living quarters.

"Help how?" Henry demanded. He followed him into the living area and placed his hands on his hips. He realized that his son was an adult and had occasionally acted on his own in an effort to help bring a case to close but this involved the emotional and mental health of a child. "When we discussed this earlier, you gave no indication that you planned to go speak with her."

"I know but ... I just thought if I could make her understand that you were a nice guy and meant no one any harm, that she would keep any further visions about you to herself," Abe explained.

Henry's brow remained furrowed but he didn't immediately reply. Finally, more calmly, he asked, "What did she say to that?"

Abe sighed and sat down on the settee. "Said she gets real sick if she doesn't tell what she's 'seen'. Her grandmother said the same thing." He looked apologetically up at his father and said, "Sorry, Pops. Just wanted to help."

Henry patted him on the shoulder and slowly sat down next to him. "It's all right, Abraham. I'm sorry that all of this business has caused you to worry about me. By the way, how did you know where Mrs. Haley lived?"

"I know that building. My old college roommate, Dale Woodruff, lives there." At Henry's frown, he waved his hand and added, "Oh, you've never met him. Mom did but ... you didn't."

Henry nodded, remembering that time when Abe had become a young adult, marking the beginning of when he could only safely acknowledge him as his father in private.

"Where's Jo?" Abe asked.

"She drove me over here and she's waiting outside in her car to take me back to work," Henry replied, as he rose from his seat.

"Well, go, go, shoo," Abe told him. "Don't let me hold things up any more than I already have."

Back in the car, Henry buckled his seatbelt and thanked Jo for indulging his bout of worry and bringing him back to the shop to speak with Abe.

"I hope you gave him a good talking to," Jo said as she started up the car and drove into traffic. "He shouldn't just go traipsing off on his own - like you often do."

Henry couldn't help but smile to himself hearing the undertone of protectiveness in Jo's voice. It reminded him of when Abigail had said something similar whenever Abe had misbehaved or stepped out of line. "I, ah, most certainly did," he assured her. When she drove in a direction past the precinct, he asked, "Where are we headed?"

"Got a call just before you came out of the shop from Glenda's grandmother, Mrs. Haley. Apparently, little Glenda has had a vision about another murder. There's no time to drop you off at the morgue, Henry," she told him, reminding him that Mike hadn't arrived back from the Otisville prison yet. That actually wasn't the reason she'd chosen not to stop at the morgue. She was really hoping that Henry would relent and meet the little girl. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why he'd chosen to distance himself from her. He, who had a special kind of quirkiness going on with him, why wouldn't he embrace somebody else who possessed their own brand?

As they raced to the Haley home, Henry remained silent and deep in thought, much to Jo's dismay. But he wasn't offering any objections so she continued driving.

vvvv

At the Haley home ...

Mrs. Haley sat on the sofa with her arms wrapped around little Glenda, rocking her and assuring her that they (Jo and Henry) were on their way.

"I don't want to see stuff like that anymore, Grandma," the girl whimpered through her tears. "It's not fair that I have to. It's not fair!"

"Oh, sweetie, Grandma knows, Grandma knows. They'll be here soon and you can tell them. You'll feel better after you tell them." She kissed her on the top of her head and hugged her closer, fighting back her own tears and wondering why this burden had been dropped on them; on her little granddaughter, who barely understood anything about life, let alone crazy adults murdering each other. It wasn't fair. How many nights she had prayed for the burden to be shifted to her. As an adult, she was sure that she could handle it better. Her granddaughter had been through so much already. Why this? Why this awful ability to see only the worst side of human existence?

"They're here," Glenda said, wiping her tears away. "I can tell them now and they can save that policeman."

The doorbell rang and Mrs. Haley left Glenda to go answer the door. A moment later, she came back into the living room with Jo and Henry.

A smile spread over Glenda's face as she and Jo exchanged greetings. "There's someone else with you," Glenda said, lowering her head in concentration. "Different aftershave."

"Yes, this is Dr. Henry Morgan with me," Jo told her.

The sound of a tea kettle whistling caught Mrs. Haley's attention. "Oh, excuse me," she said. "I was preparing tea for us." She left for the kitchen along with Jo, who'd offered to help.

Henry hadn't yet had a chance to say anything, not really wanting to, but not wanting to be out and out rude, either. "Miss Glenda, I'm, ah, fairly amazed at your ability," he told her. Maybe not the best thing to say, he acknowledged, but he was trying to be pleasant. He wanted to run. Being around her felt different from the way he'd felt being around the other mediums or spiritualists in the past. It was as if the air was electrified and ... new. It was hard to describe. His mind told him that he should put as much distance as he could between this young girl and himself. Her proven ability to see into his life, if not into his soul, was both disconcerting and utterly intriguing at the same time.

"Thank you," she replied. She licked her lips and said, "The man who shot you died on the ship. I saw it. A lot of people were able to get off before it sank but he and a lot of his crew didn't." Glenda slowly shook her head. "He was a bad man."

"Y-yes, he was," Henry managed to reply.

"Dr. Henry?"

"Yes, Glenda," he replied, trying to feel more at ease.

"How do you pronounce E-m-p-r-e-s-s? It's the first word in the name of the ship that the bad man died on. The rest of the name is 'of Africa'. I remember the word Africa from before I lost my sight."

"It's ... it's pronounced Empress," he told her, hoping that she had seen no more than that.

"Empress," she repeated in a whisper to herself. "Empress of Africa," she whispered again. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone else that it sank in 1814. You see, as long as I tell you what I saw about you," she emphasized, "I won't get sick."

"Sick how?" Henry asked, surprised he could still speak, given how dry his throat had become and how fast his heart was now beating.

"A high fever," she said. "Grandma's afraid one day it'll cook my brain. But ... how could the man who shot you have died in 1814? That would mean that you ... " her voice trailed off, her eyes widening. "Oh, my God, Dr. Henry. Oh, my God!"

vvvv

Notes:

Information on forensic artists found at

wiki/Forensic_arts


	3. Through a Child's Eyes Ch 3

_"How could the man who shot you have died in 1814? That would mean that you ... " Glenda's voice trailed off to a_ _ **whisper**_ _, her eyes widening. "Oh, my God, Dr. Henry. Oh, my God!"_

vvvv

Jo and Mrs. Haley rejoined them in the living room with no indication that they had heard little Glenda's utterance, whispered in horror.

"Here we are," Mrs. Haley said. She sat the tea set down on the coffee table and Jo sat the tray with the cups and saucers next to it. Mrs. Haley sat next to Glenda and put her arm around her shoulders. Noticing that the girl was trembling slightly, she asked, "What's wrong, dear?"

"Henry?" Jo asked, a bit concerned. "Is everything okay?" Although she knew that he'd initially been hesitant, well ... had balked at meeting the girl, she was certain that he'd never harm her.

"We were just ... talking." He looked at Mrs. Haley and apologized for any conversation that may have upset the child. Privately, though, he was thankful that it appeared that neither she nor Jo had heard what Glenda had last said.

Mrs. Haley sighed heavily as she poured tea into the cups and handed one each to Jo and Henry. "All of this business, these ... troubling visions upset her _and_ me." She settled back with her own cup and smoothed Glenda's hair. "I just wish that they would stop." She looked up at them with a tinge of anger and more than a bit of frustration on her face. "I wish we'd never met that policewoman. Officer Beard! It all seemed to start after she talked to Glenda."

Before either Jo or Henry could ask her to clarify her last statement, Glenda straightened up with a faraway look in her eyes. "You have to save him. He's in trouble."

"Glenda, honey, don't," Mrs. Haley implored. She set her cup down and put her arm around the girl's shoulders.

"Who's in trouble?" Jo asked.

"He came with you the first time you came here," Glenda replied.

Jo and Henry exchanged looks of alarm.

Glenda's eyes widened. "His car won't stop. He's trying not to crash!"

"Mike!" Jo whipped out her cell phone and called him. "Mike, pick up," she begged but it rang several times and went to voicemail. She tried again and after the third ring, she gave up and called the warden at the Otisville prison.

Henry listened intently as she asked the warden when Mike had left. She ended the call and turned to Henry. "The warden said Mike left nearly an hour ago. He should have been back by now. I'm calling the State Police. Use another phone to alert Lieu."

With shaky hands, he dialed the Lieutenant's office number from the house's landline phone and filled her in. Although grateful that Glenda seemed not to have seen anything else pertaining to him and his first death, he was just as unnerved over the fact that Mike might now be in danger.

"We'll ping his phone to find out where he is," Reece told him. "Try not to worry. We'll let you both know as soon as we locate him." She hung up and so did Henry.

He then quickly sat next to Glenda and, holding her hand, asked if she could 'see' Mike anywhere and if he was all right.

"His car ... spun into the mud off the side of the road." Glenda frowned, concentrating, her gaze growing more intense. "No one else can see him where he is ... He's ... getting out of his car." Her gaze softened and she said, "He looks okay just ... kinda scared." She exhaled loudly and grinned. "Looks like he saved himself."

Jo had been on her cell phone answering Reece's call. "They found him," she told Henry. "He's a bit shaken up but he's okay. We have to go." She pocketed her phone, they bid farewell, hurried out of the house and into her car. As she wheeled the car a few miles away to the location of Mike's traffic accident, sirens wailing, she asked Henry what it was that Glenda had told him last.

"She said the lines are cut," he replied. "From what she described, I can only assume she meant that the brake line on his car was cut."

"Delgros," Jo muttered angrily.

vvvv

Thankfully, Mike was okay, just a few cuts and scrapes when he'd plowed into the mud on the side of the freeway to stop his careening vehicle. Paramedics had checked him out at the scene but he'd elected not to be taken to the hospital. Instead, Jo and Henry had driven him home to a worried but relieved wife and kids. A thorough inspection of Mike's car the next day revealed that the brake line had been purposely cut.

"The brakes were fine when I first drove away from the prison," Mike told Jo and Henry. "They began not responding after I got onto the freeway. Have to tell ya, didn't think I was gonna come out in one piece a couple of times. Took me a while to get out of the car and hike back up the side of the freeway through all the slippery mud." He chuckled nervously then asked, "And you say the kid saw it?"

"Yeah," Jo replied. "According to her grandmother, she mentioned something about a policeman needing to be saved right before we went to see her yesterday. Apparently, she can see into the future as well as the past." She looked across the room at Reece's office. "Bet Lieu's giving Warden Petruccio an earful right now about their wack security that allowed someone to get that close to your car and do that much damage. That's attempted murder of an officer of the law!"

"The trip was worth it, though. You should have seen the look on Delgros' face when I laid everything out for him and the warden," Mike said, chuckling. "And, hey - I'm a short-timer today and tomorrow. Doctor's orders. But if anything comes up - "

" - you'll be at home resting," Reece finished for him as she walked toward them. "Doctor's orders."

Embarrassed, Mike reluctantly nodded while Jo and Henry managed to control their amusement.

"Your health is more important than the job, Mike," Reece gently pointed out to him. She'd been on the phone with Warden Petruccio trying to find out how in the world a prison's surveillance cameras had failed to pick up the SOB who'd tampered with Mike's car. He'd promised that a thorough investigation would be conducted to find out who'd tried to kill one of her best detectives - and a friend.

"But at least Delgros won't be going up before the parole board anytime soon," she said. "And, armed with Hilliard's statement and Henry's findings, the DA's office is going to charge Delgros with solicitation of murder, among other things."

Although relieved and happy that Mike had survived his ordeal, Henry's attention now returned to Officer Beard, still "manning" the precinct's Tip Hotline. Jo became aware that Henry was now watching the young policewoman, realizing that like herself, he was curious about her.

"What are you thinking?" Jo asked Henry.

"Oh, just curious as to why little Glenda began contacting the 24th but is now contacting the 11th," he replied, still eyeing the officer, who was busy on a call.

"Could just be a coincidence," Jo offered, eyeing Beard. "But I'd like to find out why Glenda's grandmother doesn't seem to like her very much."

They exchanged goodbyes with Mike as he left for the day and Jo and Henry walked over to Officer Beard's desk to chat her up. Lt. Reece went back to her office feeling it was time that she and Captain Swain of the 2-4 had a heart-to-heart, as well, concerning Officer Beard and little Glenda.

As they neared the hotline's desk, Beard rose from her seat and another uniformed patrolman slid into it to continue answering the calls. It looked as if Beard was leaving for the day so Jo and Henry quickened their pace to catch up with her.

"Excuse me, Officer Beard," Jo said. "I see you're leaving but my partner and I just have a few quick questions for you."

"Oh. Det. Martinez. Dr. Morgan. Okay," she replied. "But can we make it fast? I have a class to get to."

They followed her over to the women's locker room and left Henry at the door as she and Jo went inside. Henry lowered his head and listened intently to find out if his suspicions concerning Beard were baseless or not. But he soon realized that his presence near the door of the women's locker room might be misconstrued when another uniformed female came to stand in front of him and stared at him, smirking.

"I'm ... just waiting for someone to come out," he tried as an explanation for his questionable presence there.

"Yeah, I got that," she replied, tilting her head to the side much in the same way that Jo did whenever she felt she was seeing one thing but being told another. The look in Officer Petra Kiernan's eyes told of a growing flame as she let them travel slowly up and down his slender, muscular frame, pleasantly dancing over his handsome features and coming to rest on his lips pressed into a nervous smile. She looked up into his large eyes then further up at his well-groomed head of dark brown curls, and back into his eyes that were unable to hide his growing uneasiness.

"You can wait for me if you like," she told him, her voice oozing sultriness. "And, uh, I have a jacuzzi bathtub."

His heart was beating faster but not in a good way. Not in the same way that Jo had begun to make it throb from time to time. "Ah ... how nice for you," he managed to say, stepping away from her. Feeling greatly discomfited, he ran a hand over his hair as if that would wipe away the smoldering gaze she had fixed upon him. The way she was looking at him made him feel like a veritable piece of meat!

"It's much nicer than the river," she continued. "But I'm game if that's what you prefer."

The locker room door suddenly opened and Jo stepped out, much to Henry's relief.

"Detective!" he loudly and happily greeted her. He quickly latched onto her arm and steered her over to the elevators. "Let us continue our, ah, discussion in my office," he told her as he pounded his knuckle into the down button.

Once they were in the elevator, Jo teasingly asked, "Did I interrupt something?"

"Yes," he huffed out. "For which I shall be eternally grateful."

"What? She looks like one of your favorite, blonde types," she teased further.

"She is not - " He paused, taking in and releasing a deep breath. "Did you learn anything from your talk with Officer Beard?" he asked, wishing to change the subject.

"Not exactly," she replied, obviously frustrated.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out and walked into the morgue and into his office.

"Delia Beard," Jo began, "is hiding something." She crossed her arms and irritatedly tapped her foot with her mouth set in a thin line.

Henry frowned. "Hmm. Perhaps she's just fiercely protective of her privacy," he suggested.

"Where have I heard that one before?" she asked with a roll of her eyes. "Getting anything out of her won't be easy. But I will."

Jo's words struck a chord with him. A deep one. "I'm sure you will," he told her.

vvvv

Henry and Jo returned to Mrs. Haley's house to question her about Officer Beard. The grandmother virtually bit off her words as she explained why she disliked the officer.

"It was after she came over just before Christmas with presents the same year that Glenda's parents had died. At the time, we appreciated it very much but a few days later, the visions began."

"But, Grandma, Officer Delia's my friend," Glenda declared. "She says the visions are a good thing because they help people and ..." she hung her head again, " ... that I have to keep having them."

"See what I mean?" Mrs. Haley told them. "I've taken Glenda to psychologists, medical doctors, hypnotists. Even to speak with clergy but ... this Officer Delia tells her things like that and the visions won't stop!"

Henry and Jo looked at each other then Jo asked if there was a history of this type of ability in their family.

"What? Of course, not!" she replied, sounding insulted. "My granddaughter is the only one." She paused as if considering something, then continued. "As of this moment, all of you at the NYPD can consider my granddaughter ... retired. I will no longer allow her to contact any of you."

"But the child said that she becomes ill with a high fever if she doesn't share what she's seen with someone," Henry reminded her. He looked at Glenda then back at her grandmother. "Aren't you concerned about that?"

"Yes. But I'll handle it," Mrs. Haley replied. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll have to ask you both to leave and not come back. Especially that Officer Delia."

The detective and the ME left the Haley home feeling a bit dejected but not defeated, and drove away in Jo's car. She dropped Henry off at the shop and then drove herself home.

vvvv

Earlier at the 11th Precinct ...

 _("Lt. Reece. How may I help you?")_

"Captain Swain. Nice of you to ask. You can help me by telling me what you should have told me before Officer Delia Beard transferred over here."

 _(sighing ... "Uh ... yeah, Beard. Right." clears throat ... "She was ... distracting.")_

"Distracting?"

 _("My unit began relying too much on what came across the Tipline from a little kid rather than on their own abilities to solve cases, if you ask me.")_

"Did you object to being helped by a clairvoyant or did you object because the clairvoyant was a child?"

 _("Look, I've heard of these people helping in other cases. Just didn't - no, no. Real police work should never involve any of this weirdo stuff. Beard brought that in with her and the others ate it up like candy; but I wanted her out of here.")_

"You pushed her out?"

 _("No. It was actually her choice to transfer out.")_

"Because you pushed her out."

 _("It had gotten too weird. Real police work solves crimes. Not mumbo-jumbo from a, a - ")_

"A pint-sized Long Island Medium?"

 _("That's a good one. Yeah. Glad you understand.")_

"Oh, I'm beginning to. And you never felt the need to give me a heads up on all of this?"

 _(silence ... sighs ... "She wanted to leave so I recommended your unit. Figured you were already familiar with ha, ha, ha, strangeness.")_

"What?!"

 _("That ME of yours - Morgan - who likes to run around naked through the river when he's not pissing everybody else off with his outlandish theories and behavior.")_

"An ME who cares more about people and doing his job the right way, which is more than I can say for you!"

 _("Lieutenant - ")_

"Goodbye, Captain Swain."

vvvv

Delia Beard's apartment on East 7th Street ...

The door to the small apartment swung open and Sally Stroud looked up from her berth on the sofa to see her roommate of two years, Delia Beard, rush in and close the door as if to thwart a pursuer. She locked the door and let out a heavy sigh and turned around.

"That was pretty dramatic," Sally said as she eyed Delia then cut her eyes back to the reality TV show about overprivileged and bored housewives in Bridgeport. Delia walked wearily to the sofa and plopped down beside her. "What's got you all spooked?"

"Oh, nothing," Delia briskly replied. "Just might have to change jobs again." In answer to Sally's unspoken question, she said, "I always come up with my share of the rent."

"That wasn't my first concern," Sally replied defensively. "Okay, it was, but my second concern was for you." Delia rolled her eyes and allowed a soft smile to make a dent in her worried expression. "Are they giving you a hard time at work again because of your ... you know, that thing you can do?"

Delia burst into laughter in spite of herself. "That thing? After all the years you've known me, you still can't say what it is?" She shifted in her seat to face her best friend since high school. "I see things, Sal, I'm a ... psychic." She regarded Sally as her only real friend who'd stuck by her since tenth grade and ten years after graduation, they felt more like sisters.

"I know, Dee, but ... don't say it so loud. These walls are thin and the neighbors might hear." Sally lowered her voice and added, "It's gotten you into trouble before when others have found out. I'm just ... concerned for you, that's all."

Delia closed her eyes and chose not to reply. It had caused problems for her in the past when her ability had become known. People were at first amazed and interested, then, as time went on, they became suspicious that she would see too much into their lives and that's when they'd start to avoid her. For that reason, by middle school, she'd learned to control it better and not even use it to help with difficult assignments or tests. Delia strongly believed that it should be used for good; to help others. Not for her own personal gain.

In her capacity as a peace officer, she'd tapped into the ability to help her peg or stay a step ahead of perpetrators. Her uncanny "luck", however, in nabbing suspects had eventually caused her fellow officers to become wary of her, choosing not to be partnered with her. A year into her first assignment with Midtown South, her sergeant strongly suggested that she either quit or transfer to a different unit.

She'd lasted much longer at the 24th while Captain Leo Dabney was in charge because she'd learned to control it better. Actually, to ignore it. But as time went on, it had become harder and harder to do so. The visions demanded attention by giving her migraines that intensified in pain until they were finally shared with someone. When Dabney retired, Swain had taken over their unit but she remained reluctant to let anyone know of her ability. But she'd soon come up with a scheme that would not only allow her visions to fully manifest themselves but without having anyone suspect that they had come from her.

Glenda Haley's parents had been killed when their small plane had crashed shortly after takeoff from a private airstrip in Alexandria, Virginia but the family lived in New York. Delia had visited Glenda a few months later just before Christmas with presents donated by her fellow officers and her. It was during that visit that she sensed the child's ability and knew that it was much like her own. She had silently communicated this to Glenda, who'd at first excitedly agreed not to let her grandmother in on their "special secret". Over time, though, the dark images had begun to trouble the little girl. After one especially violent vision, Glenda had broken down and told her grandmother everything. Mrs. Haley reacted by making several phone calls to Captain Swain demanding that Delia be fired. She wasn't fired but it did spell the end of her tenure with the 24th.

vvvv

The 11th Precinct the next morning ...

Delia hung up from a call on the precinct's Tip Hotline and completed the log entry. No need to pass the message from a particular, frequent caller to anyone, she decided.

 _"I'm sure the aliens just want to enjoy a cup of coffee at Starbucks like everyone else, ma'am," Delia had told her, trying not to laugh out loud into the receiver._

 _"You know, they dress and look like us so we won't recognize them. But I do. But you don't think that they're here to zap us all up to their ship?" the woman had responded, hopeful._

 _"Positive," Delia had replied, pinching the bridge of her nose and strongly wishing for the woman to end the call, which she finally did._

At least she'd soon not have to deal with nuts like that anymore, Delia consoled herself. She was sure that Reece was reviewing her resignation papers at that very moment. A co-worker, Officer Patrick Boyle, tapped her on the shoulder and informed her that the Lieutenant wished to speak with her in her office. Delia sighed and rose up out of her seat, allowing Boyle to take over on the phones. Once inside the office, besides Reece, she found Detectives Martinez and Hanson along with Dr. Morgan from the OCME.

"Have a seat, please, Officer Beard," Reece told her.

Henry greatly empathized with the young officer noting that she was sitting in the same chair opposite Reece's desk much as he had on an earlier occasion when Reece had pointedly questioned him about his so-called skinny-dipping episodes. It was apparent to all of them that Beard was hiding something. A secret. One which she seemed to very closely guard. Although he knew how she must feel being questioned about it, especially in front of others, he needed to know just how much she might know about him beyond the vision of his first death. Depending on what she may or may not say, he had to be ready to explain things away.

"Is this about my resignation papers, Lieutenant?" Delia asked.

"Partly," Reece replied. She laid the papers down and folded her hands in front of her. "Since Captain Swain chose not to, I'm giving you the opportunity to enlighten me about this purported ability of yours and your intentions on how to use it."

Delia seemed to freeze up, hunching her shoulders and holding her breath. She looked around at the others and then back at Reece. "Why are they here?"

"They can be trusted. We all just want to help." Reece studied her for a moment and asked, "Do you want your PBA Rep?"

"No," she quickly replied, finally exhaling. She took in another deep breath and released it before telling them about her ability that had manifested itself in her childhood; problems she'd encountered with others throughout the years because of her visions; her eventual plan to channel them, in a way, through someone else with a similar ability in order to make it appear that they were not coming from her.

"A child. A helpless child," Henry stated more than asked with much condemnation in his voice. "Do you understand how these nightmarish images may have permanently scarred her, emotionally?" He knew that he was being a borderline hypocrite but also that he would never impart an iota of his condition onto anyone else. Especially not a child!

"Doctor, please control yourself," Reece warned him. The unspoken was that he would be asked to leave and they both knew that that was the last thing he wanted.

"Sorry," he replied, shaking his head and pursing his lips, determined to control any further outbursts.

"Are you here for glory?" Reece asked.

"No!" Delia replied, appalled. She closed her eyes tightly and opened them again, blinking back tears. "People don't usually understand that I just want to help." She looked Reece directly in the eyes. "That's why I became a cop. These cold cases you have? I can probably help solve a lot of them."

"Probably?" Jo asked.

"My visions aren't always easily interpreted. Sometimes they plain don't make any sense," Delia explained. "I only let someone know about the clearer ones." She leaned forward in her seat and added, "A lot of cold cases have been successfully solved."

"So, how does that work?" Mike asked. He imagined her skulking through the Evidence Locker aisles with her eyes closed and running her hands over the boxed-up items in the Cold Case Section. Although he now knew that it was she and not Glenda, who had originally "saw" him when he'd had his car accident two days ago, he wondered why she hadn't seen who'd sabotaged his car just prior to that.

Delia explained how she would scroll down the list of cold cases that she had printed out at work. After a nightly perusal, whichever one of them appeared to light up would be the one that she concentrated on.

"At first, I explained apparent clues by saying they had been anonymously supplied," she explained. "But they soon became suspicious that the clues were actually being supplied by me and it weirded everyone out." She sniffled and continued. "People I thought were my friends, even guys who said they cared about me, romantically, backed off from me. Like they were afraid of me."

Henry could barely stand to hear any more of the young officer's pain and loss she'd experienced because of her secret having been revealed. Something about which he knew all too well. "Surely, there must be someone you can rely on for support," he said, hoping that he was right.

"My roommate, Sally," Delia replied with a slight smile. "She and I have been friends since high school." As if suddenly considering something, she looked around at all of them and said, "And, no. She can't do what I do. She's just a good friend. Please leave her out of this."

"Exactly what is 'this'?" Reece asked, referring to the unusual situation they now found themselves in. Picking up the resignation papers again, she asked, "Do you want to be a cop or not?"

Surprised, Delia's mouth hung open for a second or two and then closed. She swallowed and replied, "Yes. I've wanted to be one ever since I used to watch those old reruns of Cagney and Lacey." She smiled sheepishly and admitted, "But I like the uniform." Her expression became more serious before clarifying, "And I want to help solve puzzling crimes. Figure I've got a leg up on most anyone else because of what I see."

The similarities between Delia's and his own "situations" were not lost on him and he believed her about simply wanting to find a way to solve puzzles, as he had once said himself. But the fact that she'd allowed a child to also see such dark, troubling images did not sit well with him. Although she'd done a good thing the wrong way, he believed that her heart was in the right place.

"Leave little Glenda Haley out of this, then," Reece firmly ordered her, emphasizing her words by tapping her index finger down on her desk. "On behalf of the NYPD, I have apologized to Glenda and Mrs. Haley but you will apologize personally for what you've done."

"Yes, Lieutenant," she replied.

"And from now on, any visions will be first shared with me," Reece directed. "If you can't get to me, then get to one of the others in this room."

Delia looked from one to the other of them uncertainly but responded in the affirmative.

"Now," Reece said, leaning back in her chair, still holding the resignation form in her hand. "Do I really need to have this?"

Delia breathed a sigh of relief mixed with gratitude and shook her head.

Reece tore the form up and dropped it in her wastebasket. She looked around at them all and said, "Let's get back to work, then, people."

vvvv

Notes:

I think, hope, I managed to overcome a bout of writer's block with this latest chapter. Please, please, please comment and thank you all for your patience and support.

Slight references to "Forever" TV show episodes S01/Pilot and S01/E11 Skinny Dipper

Cagney and Lacey TV show that aired on CBS basically from 1981-1988


	4. Through a Child's Eyes Ch 4

_Although Mike now assumed that it was Delia and not Glenda, who had originally "seen" him when he'd had his car accident two days ago, he wondered why she hadn't seen who'd sabotaged his car just prior to that._

vvvv

Mike caught up to Delia as they filed out of Reece's office and asked her if she had, in fact, seen who had sabotaged the braking system on his car two days ago.

"No," she replied. "Sorry. Not everything comes to me at once. Always in pieces and sometimes not all of them."

He nodded and replied, "Well, thanks, anyway, for ... sharing, as you call it, the vision of me having trouble in my car that day. Help got to me a little sooner than it normally would have."

Delia shook her head. "Wasn't me."

"But I, I thought - "

"It had to be Glenda all on her own," Delia explained. "I'd better relieve Boyle before he tears his hair out," she told them.

"Ah, excuse me," Henry said. "May I ask you something?" She nodded and he proceeded. "The vision of me getting shot ... was that from you?"

Delia shook her head again. "No, it must have been something that Glenda saw. I only projected the Richards murder to her."

"You don't seem surprised or ... concerned," Henry stated. "Why is that?"

"I have no control over how her ability works, Doctor," Delia explained. "In time, she'll learn how to do that, though."

"What if she doesn't?" Jo asked. "You said that you had learned how to control yours. How about coaching her on how to do the same?"

"Guess I do owe it to her," Delia admitted. "I do have to go apologize to them but it's gonna be hard getting past her grandmother."

Jo and Henry both smiled at her. "We'll go with you to lend a hand with that," Jo told her. Delia looked worriedly over to Boyle looking frazzled from working the hotline. They decided it would be best to wait until the end of Delia's shift before heading out to the Haley home.

vvvv

Lucas had just finished preparing a tissue sample for testing when he noticed Henry leaving the morgue. "Knockin' off early, Doc, or headed out into the field with Det. Martinez? I'm available if you guys need an extra hand or eye or gut feeling."

He was trying for nonchalant to hide his eagerness to accompany them into the field or anywhere outside the morgue to help end the boredom of examining the bodies of people who had died of natural causes.

Henry smiled at the silent plea for inclusion in Lucas' voice and paused, turning around to look at him. "Perhaps next time, Lucas. I won't require your assistance on this particular outing."

Jo and Delia walked into the morgue together and at the sight of them, Lucas gulped and his eyes opened wider. He rose from his chair even as his legs felt wobbly. The double whammy of loveliness before him was almost too much for him to take. "Det. Martinez, uh, uh, Officer, Officer ... ?" he nervously greeted them.

"Hey, Lucas," Jo greeted him back. "This is Officer Delia Beard. Delia, this is Lucas Wahl, Dr. Morgan's assistant."

The two younger people exchanged greetings, while Henry chose to avert his eyes from his assistant who had yet to learn how to properly deport himself around the opposite sex.

"Henry, you ready to head out?" Jo asked, averting her eyes away from Lucas as well and feeling just about the same amount of embarrassment for him.

"I'll be back in a little while, Lucas," Henry told him. "Please see that the specimen gets to the lab for testing as soon as possible."

"Oh, sure, sure, just ... leave me here while ... you go off with ... both hotties," he muttered as he watched the three of them leave. "Some guys get all the luck."

vvvv

"Glad we got all that straightened out with Glenda and her grandmother," Jo said as she and Henry walked back into the precinct building. "I've got a few reports to finish up upstairs."

"As do I," he replied.

"McSorley's later?" she asked.

"Yes, but we must be sure to include Lucas," he replied. "I'd hate to see his heart broken twice in one day."

Her laughter mingled with his, then they headed back to their respective offices.

vvvv

Otisville Prison, Tommy Delgros' cell ...

Delgros sat brooding, angered over the cancellation of his parole board hearing. He was that close to blowing this crappy place. That close to being a free man for he was sure that he would have been able to con those morons on the parole board into believing that he was a changed man, rehabilitated. He'd had his answers all rehearsed down to the appropriate, accompanying expressions of remorsefulness and contrition. But that stinkin' cop, Hanson, had ruined everything by personally delivering Hilliard's confession to the warden. Thanks to him and his cop buddies, he'd probably spend the rest of his life in this rathole!

"Too bad, Tommy," his cellmate, Ernie Banks said sarcastically. "Looks like we're gonna have to get used to lookin' at that ugly mug of yours for a while longer." Ernie laughed. "You're gonna be in your 90s when you get out if they don't schedule you for a permanent dirt nap."

The sarcastic laughter of other prisoners joined Ernie's causing the cloud of anger to darken more over Delgros' face.

"Banks. The only reason I haven't slit your throat in the night is because I'm staying on my best behaviour, see?" Delgros calmy told him, curbing Ernie's laughter. "No rat or dumb cop is gonna keep me in here."

"Oh, yeah?" Ernie asked, fearful but not wanting Tommy to know it. "Just how do you plan to get out of here then? Hilliard ratted you out but good."

"Don't worry," he replied. "I still got connections on the outside." Inside, too. That's how he was able to have someone tamper with Hanson's car. But it hadn't worked. Hanson had survived. He had to figure something else out. If he was going down, he wasn't going down alone.

vvvv

McSorley's, later on, that same evening ...

"Who'da thunk that we'd have someone else in the precinct with a looser screw than the Doc?" Mike said in a lowered voice to Lucas. He took a swig from his bottle of beer.

"Uh, well, I wouldn't exactly describe them like that," Lucas replied while he clutched his own bottle of beer. "Henry's got his, uh, special ways and, and Det. Martinez seems to like him a lot."

"Look, I like the Doc, too," Mike said. "He's an okay guy. It's just that sometimes his 'special ways' kinda ... "

"Weird you out?" Lucas asked.

"Nah, I was gonna say ... make me feel obsolete." He sighed and tapped his thumb on the beer bottle as he held it. "Between him and his know-all, see-all way of solving crimes and now the Homecoming Queen of 2012 taking us One Step Beyond ... " his voice trailed off as he shook his head and took another swig of his beer. "Good oldfashioned police work is slowly being abandoned."

"Actually, it was 2007," Lucas told him. Mike frowned at him, confused. "Homecoming Queen," Lucas clarified.

Henry and Jo rejoined them at their table with a fresh round of drinks.

"Doctor, Doctor," Mike greeted him with a broad grin. "What, no Macallan 25?"

Henry chuckled and replied, "Thought I should give this watered-down beer another chance."

"Ouch!" Lucas said, feigning being insulted. "Knock our drinks of choice."

"Say, Doc," Mike began, "exactly what happened back then to get you shot like that?"

Jo recalled an earlier time at McSorley's when Henry had begun to tell her about his scar but Lucas had interrupted them. She hadn't brought it up again, hoping that he would when he was ready. By the look on his face, it appeared that he still wasn't ready. She started to protest on his behalf but Henry surprised her when he opted to elaborate on it.

"I ... it was a dispute," he said. "Some people choose to settle their disputes with violence. That's the type of man he was." He took a sip from his mug of beer and set it down, his gaze overtaken by the long-ago event.

"Who was he?" Jo asked.

"He was ... a fellow passenger," he replied. He felt it was best not to tell them the man's name or that he was also the ship's captain.

"What happened?" Mike asked, teasingly. "His lady friend give you the eye or something?"

Lucas and Mike chuckled while Henry took it in good-naturedly. Jo, however, thought otherwise.

"If I know you, Henry," she began, "you were probably trying to protect someone else."

His eyes travelled slowly upward to meet hers. Her uncanny gift of insight never ceased to amaze him. "You're absolutely right, Detective." He took another sip from his beer mug and set it back down.

"Did it work?" Lucas asked. "I mean did the person you were trying to protect come out okay?"

The face of the frightened but stoic slave man flashed across his memory. He never learned the man's fate after he, himself was shot and thrown overboard, only that more people had survived the ship's sinking than he'd previously thought. Most likely, though, the captain's men had tossed the man overboard along with him. Without even the mercy of a bullet to hasten his drowning death.

"I never learned of his fate," he truthfully told them.

"Geez," Mike said. "What's the name of that cruise line so I can never book a trip on it myself?"

"It was hardly a cruise ship, Detective," Henry hoarsely replied, shuddering. He instantly regretted the level of bitterness heard in his voice. He inhaled and exhaled deeply to calm himself, sipping his beer again.

Jo placed her hand on top of his and told him, "It's okay, Henry. You don't have to talk any more about it." She looked at Mike and Lucas. "Okay, guys?"

Mike and Lucas spoke over themselves in apology to Henry.

"Yeah, let's talk about something really horrible," Mike said. "Like Det. Bledsoe's suggestion that the precinct have a square dance at our upcoming annual picnic."

Their laughter rose over talk of whether a singing competition would be better, making them fail to notice a middle-aged woman across the room drinking alone but eyeing them very interestedly. Carla Delgros. Wife of Tommy. She remembered a couple of them from his trial. And from everything that her incarcerated husband had told her over the past few years, they were responsible for getting him arrested and convicted.

They looked so happy over there, she thought. Totally opposite of how she felt. With her husband in prison and his construction business closing, she and their two children had suffered financially, including the loss of their family home. They'd been forced to move in with her elderly parents in a not-so-nice part of Queens. Fortunately, their son had graduated high school the year before and joined the military, easing her financial burden a bit. But it was still hard to make ends meet on her pay as a clerical worker with the city. Their 16-year-old daughter was an aspiring Olympic gymnast and those coaching sessions didn't come cheap.

Lately, he'd contacted her with a specific request and set of instructions via his friend and former construction foreman, Lou, aimed at doing harm to some or all of the people in her line of sight. The same ones her husband felt were responsible for his incarceration and the downfall of his little empire. He wanted to make them pay and she knew what she had to do. She drank the liquid encouragement in the form of her glass of scotch and headed across the room toward them.

Jo's cell phone rang and her laughter changed to a groan before she pulled it out of her pocket and answered it. The name on the Caller ID, however, caused her to quickly put a hand up to silence her companions. "Martinez."

 _("Your 10 o'clock," Delia urgently told her. "Caucasian woman, grey and white dress, short, black hair.")_

Jo looked sharply up and to her left slightly. "I see her."

 _("God, I've never done this. Real-time," Delia said in awe. "She may or may not mean you harm but she is upset. Be careful.")_

"Thanks," Jo said. She rose from her seat and walked around the table in the path of the approaching woman, her hand on her weapon. "Stop right there," she ordered her, drawing her weapon. "Raise your hands."

Carla did as she said, then, reached for her purse. She froze when Jo shouted for her not to move. Nearby patrons also froze, many of them backing away, not wanting to be caught in any crossfire.

"I have something for you," Carla explained. "Not a weapon. A letter from one of my husband's friends," she clarified.

Jo kept her weapon aimed at her while she ordered Carla to hand the purse to Mike, his own weapon drawn. Carla slowly handed her purse to him and he stepped back to open it. He pulled out a business-size envelope and set the purse down on the table. He opened the letter and read it, then looked up at Carla, astonished.

"Things just keep gettin' better and better," he muttered, shaking his head.

"What is it?" Jo asked.

"Love letter from our friend, Delgros," Mike replied sarcastically.

"It's all in there," Carla replied to her, referring to the letter. "How I'm supposed to kill you."

vvvv

Another of Delgros' hirelings, Lou Palmieri, now sat in the hot seat formerly occupied by Hilliard only days ago, being questioned by Mike. He looked down at the letter in front of him. The same one that Delgros had had him write and deliver to his wife, Carla, instructing her on how to affix a pipe bomb to the underside of a car along with a short list of names and addresses.

"Don't tell us that you don't know anything about this," Mike warned him. "It's in your own handwriting."

Lou studied the letter a few moments more then looked away.

"You know, in this post 9/11 world, this hit list with step-by-step instructions would fall under terrorism," Mike told him. "You're lookin' at some serious jail time in federal prison. And with you bein' a two-striker - "

"Could be just a joke," Lou said dryly, interrupting him.

Mike gathered up the letter and began stuffing it back into its envelope. "Well, let's see if a jury of your peers and a judge get a laugh out of it." He started to leave but Lou stopped him.

"Wait!" Lou sighed once he got Mike's attention. "I want a deal."

"Too late for that," Mike told him. "This (he held up the envelope) and a statement from Delgros' wife, Carla, is enough to put you away for a long time and Delgros will never see the light of day."

Lou scoffed and with a twisted smirk, replied, "Delgros' reach is long even while he's on ice. Trust me; you want this information. The safety of a certain, cute, little girl and a sweet, old lady depend on it."

At the realization of what he was implying, Mike's anger boiled over and he grabbed Lou by the back of the head, pressing it down onto the table top. "Spill it, scumbag!"

Lou grunted and groaned through clenched teeth with his eyes squeezed shut. "Get off me, get off me! Somebody get this guy off me!"

"Cough it up!" Mike yelled at him, pressing harder.

"Aaaagggghhhh, your guy, Boyle, Patrick Boyle!" Lou groaned out.

Mike, astonished and dismayed, released Lou and stepped back. Reece had already sprung into action by requesting the nearest units to converge on the Haley home. Mike rushed out of the interview room and joined Jo and Henry as they hurried to his newly-assigned vehicle and he hurtled it through traffic toward the Haley home, as well. Jo had called the home but had gotten no answer. They desperately worked to shove aside their worst fears as they closed in on the home. And the fact that one of their own, Boyle, might be one of Delgros' hirelings only added to their fear and anxiety. And shame. An academy-trained law enforcer trading his skills in weaponry to become a common hitman.

Back at the precinct, Reece hurried over to Delia and questioned her about Boyle.

"He's not here," she told Reece, alarmed by the urgency in the Lieutenant's voice and demeanor.

"How long ago did he leave?" Reece demanded, careful to keep her voice down. She wanted answers, not panic.

"About ... ten minutes ago," Delia replied. "Lieutenant, what's going on? Is he in trouble?"

"We're trying to find that out right now, Officer," Reece replied. "Let me know if anything comes across your desk," she told Delia with a pointed stare. The unspoken understood, Delia nodded. Reece then turned and hurried into her office to wait for any updates on the situation.

Delia knew that she couldn't just forge up any visions at will but then she decided to do something that she had been told never to do again: contact Glenda. She let her sergeant know that she had to take a restroom break and once a replacement took over the Hotline, she walked briskly out of the bullpen and into the restroom and hid in a stall. She closed her eyes and reached out to little Glenda in a way that she knew only she could. But try as she might, nothing happened. Frustrated, she realized she had to try something else. She bounded down the stairs next to the restroom and headed to the morgue. Once there, she quickly entered Henry's office and looked around at everything on the shelves and on his desk. She needed something that he had handled; the more recent, the better. Although she had always obtained mixed results by handling a person's personal objects, she had to give it a try anyway. She chose him because a vision that Glenda had had of Henry had played a big part in solving the Richards case.

At the Haley home ...

Mike screeched the car to a halt in front of the home. Two other squad cars with lights blinking were already there. The trio exited the car and ID'd themselves to the officers and quickly went inside. The unis took the first floor and Jo, Mike, and Henry ran upstairs. While Mike entered the first bedroom to clear it, Jo entered a second, ordering Henry to remain in the hallway. He blinked and tried to shake off the feeling he'd had before when he'd first met Glenda. The air felt electrified. It wasn't exactly a painful feeling but it was unnerving. Mike and Jo yelled out "Clear!" one behind the other and they both emerged from the bedrooms and moved down the hall to what appeared to be two others. The detectives took one bedroom each and Jo shot a look to Henry to wordlessly remind him to remain in the hallway out of danger. But he was close to and felt drawn to, a smaller door at the end of the hallway. He leaned closer to the door and then slowly pushed it open.

Back in Henry's office ...

Delia thought it odd that there were a quill pen and inkwell on his desk but there was a corresponding oddness about him, she thought. She grabbed the quill pen and held it, closing her eyes, willing herself to "see" where he was and what he was seeing. The second story hallway of the Haley home popped up into her vision immediately. The circular center of the vision was clear but the areas at the edges were skewed and blurred. Her attention was drawn toward the end of the hallway, the same direction in which Henry was slowly moving. He stood in front of a door, leaned toward it, then slowly pushed it open.

Inside, he saw a terrified Glenda and Mrs. Haley being held at gunpoint by Officer Patrick Boyle! Boyle quickly moved behind Glenda and grabbed her up by the waist and held the gun to her head. A distraught Mrs. Haley reached out for her granddaughter, crying for Boyle to let her go.

"Back off," Boyle told Henry. "I'll shoot her, I swear," he hissed.

Henry had thrown his hands up at the sight of Boyle holding the gun on them. He stopped inching forward at Boyle's threat.

"Please," Henry begged. "There's no need for this. You're completely surrounded. We know all about you working with Delgros." He managed to inch forward again and shield Mrs. Haley while Boyle backed further into what appeared to be a mud room, holding the gun at a tearful Glenda's head. "You haven't harmed anyone. The best thing you can do right now is surrender."

Mrs. Haley continued to weep and beg for Boyle to release her granddaughter but she remained behind Henry. He was making sure of that.

"Just ... let the child go," Henry pleaded again. "You've only frightened them. You haven't harmed anyone." It troubled him that Boyle had not uttered a word again but just stared intently at him and clung tighter to a whimpering Glenda. For a few, tense moments, it looked like he was getting through to Boyle, who lifted the gun away from Glenda's head to rub the side of his own forehead with the side of his thumb. When he saw Henry inch slowly forward again, he quickly put the gun back to Glenda's head.

"Stay back," was all he said.

Henry sensed that Boyle intended to make a run for it when he glanced behind and down at the stairs leading to the backyard. Just when Boyle appeared to have decided to act, they were all startled by Jo's voice from the doorway, ordering Boyle to drop the gun. He stumbled back into the wall, releasing his hold on Glenda, who scrambled away past Henry and into her grandmother's arms. Boyle righted himself but stumbled again on the edge of the top step, losing his footing. He tumbled backwards down the stairs but his gun discharged the first time his body contacted the wall.

Jo saw Henry cry out in pain and clutch his left arm, twisting halfway around and falling to his knees. "Henry!" she cried out as she flew to his side. Satisfied that despite the amount of blood, he would survive, she walked over to the top of the stairs and peered down at Boyle's twisted body at the bottom. There appeared to be no life behind his open eyes. A uni appeared next to him and checked his pulse. He looked up at Jo and shook his head, indicating Boyle had expired. She crouched down beside Henry and helped him to his feet.

"Haven't you learned yet what 'Stay put' means?" she asked him frustratedly.

Feeling it was best for him not to answer for fear of increasing her frustration with him, he merely gave the occasional grunt of pain as she helped him into a chair in one of the bedrooms. Glenda and her grandmother were safe. Everyone was safe. That's all that mattered to him now.

Back in Henry's office ...

As the events at the Haley home played out, Delia had visualized most of it through Henry's eyes. She knew he had been shot and was gratified to know that, apparently, it wasn't serious. A smile of relief widened across her face as the vision began to fade and she opened her eyes to see a mesmerized Lucas standing in the middle of Henry's office. She replaced the quill pen in its holder on the desk and walked quickly past Lucas.

"Uh, did you need to write something or ... something, uh, were you in a trance ... just now?" he stammered out uncertainly.

"No, I, uh, was just trying to imagine what it would feel like to use one of those ancient writing tools," she lied.

"Well, it looked like it kind of was painful for you," he told her. "You looked so scared and worried."

"That's ... how they wrote back in those olden days," she replied. "Lot of emotion went into their writings, a lot of angst." She turned, bugging her eyes, and walked more quickly to leave the morgue and the doctor's curious assistant behind. And she had to report to Lt. Reece about what had just come across her desk.

"Yeah, yeah, I totally get that," Lucas called after her. "Anytime you want to channel some more grief for creative endeavors, just ... feel free to come on down." He watched her hurry away and jump into the elevator. "Got ... tons of grief down here," he quietly added as he sat back down at his workstation.

Notes:

Slight references to "Forever" TV show S01/E05 "The Pugilist Break"


	5. Through a Child's Eyes Ch 5

_"Haven't you learned yet what 'Stay put' means?" Jo asked Henry, clearly frustrated with him and his lack of self-preservation._

 _He gave only the occasional grunt of pain as she helped him into a chair in one of the bedrooms. Everyone was safe, he told himself, and that's all that mattered._

vvvv

Paramedics tended to Glenda and her grandmother in the living room of the Haley home. Mike stayed near them while on the phone updating Reece on the situation. Henry was being tended to in the upstairs guestroom. Jo found herself unable to leave his side and watched intensely while the paramedics cleaned and dressed the gunshot wound to his upper left arm. Although apparently in great pain, Henry managed to suggest to her that the morgue team might need her help with Boyle's body but she quickly pointed out that she'd only be in the way, not being an ME.

It felt to her as if he wanted to get rid of her. Why? She was spot on with her suspicions, though. He didn't want her to see his newest gunshot wound that would not sit side by side with the small but ugly scar from the older one he'd suffered at the hand of the gas station owner, Ryan Morris, when they had worked the Forrester murder case. The small lines of concentration began to etch themselves deeper between her brows as the paramedics wiped the blood away to reveal only his present wound. She noticed how he tried a couple of times to shift his body away from her intense and curious stare but the paramedics gently but firmly shifted him back into a more easily accessible position for themselves. They unknowingly provided her with a clear view of his wounded arm as they covered it with a dressing and prepared him for transport to the hospital for surgery.

Henry nodded resolutely, all the while avoiding looking at Jo; not wanting to see the growing curiosity in her eyes, if not realization. The blood loss from the new wound had left him a bit whoozy so he voiced no objections to being taken out on a gurney and herded into an ambulance. Jo followed behind the paramedics and while they secured the gurney in the ambulance, she stared questioningly at him. Her unvoiced questions sounded out loud and clear but he just couldn't answer them. He'd only briefly been able to hold her gaze and his eyes travelled down and away from her again as if to bury his own cowardice.

"I'll call Abe," she told him.

It caught him off guard since he hadn't expected her to say anything and the hand of his other arm reacted in a jerky wave to acknowledge her just as the doors closed. He closed his eyes as well at the thought of her telling Abe about his latest mishap. He didn't know which of them he would later want most to avoid.

vvvv

Three days later ...

"Ho, hoooo," Abe chortled as he followed his father into the shop after picking him up from the hospital. "Is Jo ever mad at you."

"And just how do you know that?" Henry replied. He stopped at the retail counter and turned to face his son.

"Uh, who picked you up and brought you home? Duh!" Abe replied.

"Doesn't mean a thing," Henry replied dismissively and started ascending the stairs to the living quarters.

"Means everything," Abe countered as he followed behind him. "Did she visit you at all while you were in the hospital?"

"Yes. Every day," he told him emphatically. He sat down on the settee and more quietly added, "She just didn't say very much. No more than just polite conversation as if we were mere acquaintances. Almost as if ... she didn't know me." He paused, his eyes darting around the room but focusing on nothing. "I must admit, it kind of hurt."

"Well, welcome to the club, Henry," Abe said. This wasn't time for a father-son chat but for a man-to-man discussion. "Now you know how hurt she must have felt for a long time knowing that you were keeping secrets from her. It does hurt. Friends should trust each other. And you should have told her about your condition a long time ago instead of having her pick up on enough clues to figure things out herself."

Henry sighed deeply and sat back, wincing at the jolt of pain caused by his sudden movement. Abe winced along with him, reminding himself that his father could have been more seriously injured or even killed right in front of Jo and with a squad of police and first responders swarming around him.

"Look, Dad, you just try to relax here and I'll whip you up a sandwich or something," Abe told him. He started to pat him on the shoulder, causing Henry to cringe. Instead, he patted him on the knee and went into the kitchen to prepare the meal. When the landline phone rang, he answered it and then brought it over to Henry, handing him the receiver.

"It's Jo. Play nice," he teasingly advised him.

Henry's heart leapt in that throbby way from the mere mention of her name and he was also very glad that she was calling him. "Hello, Detective." He did his best to sound normal and cheery - not nervous and needy. "What can I do for you?"

 _("Hmmm. That's a loaded question," she dryly replied. Before he could try to say anything else, she continued. "Phoned to give you some good news. Little Glenda has regained her sight.")_

He gasped and breathed out, "That's wonderful!" He refrained from spouting his own ideas of why her sight had returned, preferring to allow her to guide the conversation.

 _("Mrs. Haley said the doctors called it hysterical blindness, remember? They had also told her that Glenda lost her sight after a traumatic event - the loss of her parents - and that another traumatic event would most likely restore it.")_

"Well, I'm glad for her," he said. "She can go back to living her life as before."

 _("Except for one thing. If she still has her ability to 'see' things, she might chose to maintain secrecy about that so she can stay safe.")_

Henry pondered her words for a moment before replying. "Sounds like the best course of action. As long as people believe that she's just like they are, they won't fear her."

 _("Or try to harm her.")_

"Yes," he replied, knowingly. "There are always those who would seek to harness her ability by experimenting on her."

 _("Hmmm. Yeah. Well, she's lucky to have a support system in place to help keep her safe. And friends ... who understand.")_

A smile crept across his lips for he knew that they weren't just talking about the little girl anymore. "Yes," he said in agreement. "Friends are very important. They are to be cherished."

 _("And the time spent with them.")_

He smiled broader, blinking rapidly to ward off a tearfall. "And the time, yes." His voice was hoarse so he cleared his throat before asking, "Jo ... would you like to come for dinner tonight?" He kept his voice low so that his son - who was pretending not to listen - couldn't hear.

 _("Thanks ... but I can't.")_

His smile flattened out a bit but quirked back up at what she said next.

 _("You should get your rest tonight. If the invitation still holds for tomorrow night - ")_

"Oh, absolutely," he replied louder than he intended. "Tomorrow night will be fine," he added, lowering his voice. "Look forward to it."

They ended the call and Abe placed a bowl of cioppino on the coffee table. "There," he said. "This ought to perk you up." He sat down next to him with his own bowl. "But from the look on your face, something or someone else has already done that."

Henry chuckled, dipping into his cioppino and blowing on it. "Very perceptive of you, Abraham. Jo's agreed to join us for dinner tomorrow night and ... I'm going to need your help."

Abe, visibly pleased, placed a hand on his father's uninjured shoulder and squeezed it. "You got it, Pops."

vvvv

The 11th Precinct breakroom, the next morning ...

Delia stood in front of the microwave while her bag of popcorn finished cooking. While she waited, she closed her eyes and tried once more to make sense of a certain set of black-and-white images that had come to her shortly after having used Dr. Morgan's quill pen to connect with him while he had been at the Haley home the day before.

The images clearly showed a man being shot by an assailant in a hospital parking lot in what looked like the 1950s. That in itself was disturbing but it was the other man who had come to the wounded man's aid that disturbed her even more. A man who looked and spoke like Dr. Morgan and who had also wound up being shot. Bleeding and in pain, most likely dying, the doctor's lookalike crawled behind a large truck and ... That's what she couldn't quite make out. He clearly lay there bleeding and then ... vanished in what appeared to be a strange flash of light. But it happened at the same time that the vision left her. Was there a strange flash at the end of the vision or not? If so, what did it mean?

Delia simply didn't know how to interpret that particular vision that seemed to stand out from several others concerning the mysterious Dr. Morgan. Even before transferring to the 11th Precinct, rumors regarding the ME painted him as being highly intelligent but also very eccentric, unorthodox, and mysteriously private about his personal life. There was an oddness about him that she had never encountered with anyone else. An oddness that pointed less to him being a danger to anyone but more to him holding onto an archaic type of lifestyle. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her and having no one with which to share the contents of these latest visions, she feared the onset of a migraine. She had to do something to avoid that. Although she'd been ordered to cease and desist projecting any other images to little Glenda, she was reluctant to even share them with Sally. However, she was glad to know that the little girl had regained her sight and could just enjoy being a kid again.

Delia sighed in frustration and opened her eyes when the microwave beeped. She retrieved the piping hot bag of popcorn from it and gingerly pulled at the opening, careful to avoid the outpouring steam. She startled at the sound of a voice behind her.

"You did that thing again ... with a bag of popcorn this time," an intrigued Lucas said. "You do that a lot? Uh, meditate?"

Delia smiled and replied, "Sometimes I just have to shut things out. Find some privacy and ... meditate." She sat down at the round dining table and coaxed a bit of the popcorn out of the bag. "You're not a cop," she said. "What are you doing up here?"

"Oh, well, while the Doc, uh, my boss, Dr. Morgan, is out of commission, I'm sort of holding the fort down in the OCME," he grinningly replied. "At least, in my little area of the OCME," he quietly admitted.

 _"You are smart, Lucas. I'm proud of you."_

The vision of Henry quietly praising Lucas was quickly replaced by another one, that of an elderly gentleman seeking Lucas' help to locate his missing mother. She recognized the elderly gentleman as Dr. Morgan's roommate and friend. Scuttlebutt around the precinct was that he was probably the doctor's father ... or lover, depending on who you talked to. But she now viewed Lucas with a new appreciation because, apparently, he held the trust of both men which made her wonder if she could trust him, too.

"Um, Lucas, isn't it?" she asked. He nodded with a sheepish grin. "Can we talk for a minute? I ... I need a little help, a little advice, actually." She flashed a genuine smile at him, deciding against a false, demure one. He struck her as being a nice guy; too nice a guy to lie to and she did need his help.

Lucas quickly but shakily sat down in the chair next to her, eager to help but he quickly jumped back up when she said, "Not now. Later."

"Later, later, yeah, cool," he told her, bobbing his head up and down.

"I'm off at 2:30 but I'll be in class til 7 o'clock," she told him.

He told her that he was off at 8 o'clock and she suggested they meet around 8:30 at MidCity Comics on 39th Street.

"MidCity - you go there, too?" he asked, breathless at the thought that they may have missed each other there at times. He had to admit, he was p excited to meet someone of the significant-other persuasion who shared his enthusiasm for graphic novels.

"All the time," she replied, grinning. And she wondered why she hadn't seen him there before. However, she was v excited to find out that he was into comics like she was. "Gotta get back to the glorious Tip Hotline," she said, rolling her eyes. "See you later."

He smiled as he watched her leave the breakroom. She of raven hair and soft, brown eyes who filled out the boxy, perfectly-creased police uniform in the nicest, curviest way. "Perf," he whispered.

vvvv

Outside the MidCity Comics store, a nervous Lucas trying hard to look cool, waited for Delia to show up, reminding himself that a few minutes past 8:30 wasn't really her being late, just him being overanxious and early. Then, almost in a panic, he realized that he didn't want her to see him pacing in front of the store like a worried, potential stalker, so he started to duck inside the store then emerge a few minutes later.

 _'No. She'll think I'm hunting her up inside.'_ Oh, how he wished that he could ratchet his emotions down like the Doc had advised him to do on more than one occasion. To that end, he ducked inside the sandwich shop next door and pretended to browse their selection of desserts. None of them appealed to him, especially the high prices, but as soon as he saw Delia's reflection in the display case, he issued a polite "Thank you" to the cashier and walked outside. They awkwardly exchanged greetings and they walked past the comics store down the street.

"What can you tell me about Dr. Morgan?" she finally asked.

His heart fell to his knees in dismay. This was all just a ploy for her to find out how to get close to his rival? Well, the Doc but ... his rival now.

"He trusts you," she said. "And so does his friend, his roommate."

"Uh ... yeah, pretty much," he replied, not sure where this was all headed.

She suddenly stopped walking and looked up at him with a smile, her lips glistening with pink lip gloss, her soft, brown eyes pulling him into her universe. "Then, I guess I can trust you, too. Let's go to my parents' house. They live just a few blocks from here."

"O ... kay, sure," he replied. _'Meeting the parents already, Wahl. Wow.'_ Her slender fingers softly encircled his elbow as she guided him down the street to their destination.

Once they arrived, Delia introduced him to her parents and then left him alone in the living room, disappearing into the kitchen with them. After several minutes, she emerged from the kitchen with two bottles of sparkling water and handed him one. She then sat in the armchair next to the sofa where he sat. Taking a large gulp of water as if it were a potent potable to give her courage, she finally told him about her secret.

"You see things like you're very observant or like crystal ball kind of see things?" he asked.

She chuckled. "More like ... like a video, like a recording that plays in my head," she explained, pointing to the side of her head. "I saw you interacting with Dr. Morgan and another time with his roommate."

He nodded, frowning. "Oh. Okay."

"Sometimes I can touch someone's personal objects and the visions come that way."

"That's what you were doing the other day when you were holding his quill pen," he realized. "Wha- what did you, uh, see?" Almost immediately regretting having asked, sure that he probably shouldn't know.

"Oh, just saw what he was seeing when he was at the home of the little girl, Glenda," she replied almost dismissively. "Ever since then I've seen other things that have happened in the past but I'm not sure if it's _his_ past. And something that's going to happen to him in the future. It's fuzzy but it still doesn't look good for him. I have never seen future events for anyone! That's why I want to know what you know about him. It might help me understand better what I'm seeing."

He hesitated and frowned deeper. "I don't know. Whatever goes on in the Doc's life is his business. Not ours."

"Lucas, I mean Dr. Morgan no harm," she assured him. "But if I don't tell someone what I've seen, about my visions, I become very ill. It's better that I tell the actual person in my vision." She suddenly rose from her chair when he did. "Lucas - "

"Uh, no, no," he told her, waving his hand. "I'm sorry that you might get sick but the Doc is my friend and he does trust me. I'm not sure what this is you're trying to tell me but ... " he paused, taking in a deep breath then walked around the coffee table toward the front door.

"Lucas, please," she said, following him. "Maybe you could help me convince Dr. Morgan to listen to me instead."

He paused at the door but didn't look at her. He slowly turned to look down at her and said, "Look, when you told me that you thought you could trust me - and made me believe that you liked me - "

"I _do_ like you, Lucas," she told him.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Well, I don't know about that," he told her as mirthless laughter now spilled out of him. "Can't believe I let you drag me all the way over here just so you could get me to tell you how to hookup with Henry."

"That's not true!" she shouted. "I like _you_!" She planted herself in front of him with her hands on his chest. He slowly removed her hands from him and opened the door, stepping out. Before walking away, he turned to her one last time and said, "You want to get with Henry, talk to him yourself. Don't use me for that. But you'll have to get in line behind Det. Martinez. She's got serious dibs on him." He then walked away with a heavy heart wondering to himself how he always seemed to wind up on the doormat side of his relationships.

Delia watched forlornly as Lucas walked away. She could kick herself for having mishandled the situation so badly. It was never her intention to hurt his feelings. She sighed and closed the door, dreading the feel of a migraine beginning. But he'd mentioned Det. Martinez. Yes, she thought, Det. Martinez. Now why didn't she think of that before? She knew. Sidetracked by having wanted to spend time with Lucas.

 _'Well, forget that now. He hates me.'_

Her mother emerged from the kitchen. "Is it safe to come out now?" she asked, smiling. Then, seeing that Delia was alone, asked, "Where is your friend?"

"He, uh, had to leave," she replied.

"Well, come on in and get some dinner, honey."

"Sorry, Mom. I have to leave, too." She gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek and left in a cab headed for the antiques shop.

Notes:

References to Forever TV show episodes S01/E07 "New York Kids", S01/E20 "Best Foot Forward", and S01/E22 "The Last Death of Henry Morgan"


	6. Through a Child's Eyes Ch 6

Lucas trudged slowly away from the home of Delia's parents and back to the subway, his date of a little more than 60 minutes on his mind. It was officially his shortest date yet. A new record for even him regarding failed liaisons. And knocked out of the boo slot by no less than his own boss! His love life had sunken to a new low, he morosely thought to himself. Try as he might, though, he couldn't dredge up any hard feelings toward Henry. Well ... maybe just a little but not enough to hate him. It was what it was. Hard to really compete with that amount of suaveness, that accent, those matinee idol looks and, especially, those scarves, he conceded.

But he still wasn't ready to go out with his co-worker's cousin again who'd declared him to be her soulmate on their one and only date and had driven him halfway to Atlantic City with her so they could tie the knot. Only by feigning food poisoning had he been able to be released from her clutches.

And now this one, a cop, no less, who claims to - oogie woogie woogie - "see" things. He laughed at the memory of her trying to make him believe that. He let himself into his apartment and tossed the keys onto the coffee table.

"Ever since I held Dr. Morgan's quill pen," he said in a voice mimicking hers with closed eyes and the overly dramatic hand motions of a two-bit soothsayer, "I've seen things in the past and something in the future that doesn't look ... good ... for him." His voice faltered at the end and he frowned, realizing that he hadn't paid much attention to that part because it had sounded kind of ... crazy. And he was upset. Was it possible, though? Of course not, he quickly answered himself, shaking his head. But what if he was wrong about her and she really could do those things? That would mean that the Doc might soon be in trouble. She did look sincere, truthful.

He took off his jacket and threw it on the sofa and walked over to get a beer from the fridge. Popping the top off the can, he flopped down onto the sofa and turned on the TV to see the hilarious "World of the Psychic" talk show scene in the 1989 movie, "Ghostbusters II". The scene had always provided him with a barrel of laughs but after his earlier experience with Delia, his laughter was a bit subdued by the irony of him happening upon that particular scene at that particular moment.

Then he recalled that a friend of his, who worked as a Records Clerk at the 24th Precinct, had told him a few weeks ago about a slew of helpful tips received, commencing around the same time that Delia had transferred in but had mysteriously stopped after she'd transferred out. Could that have been when she began working at the 11th, he asked himself? And what was that meeting about in Lt. Reece's office recently with Delia, the Doc, Det. Martinez, and Det. Hanson? Did it have something to do with the sudden influx of helpful tips the 11th was now receiving? The movie, although one of his favorites, no longer held his interest for he was now too busy un-convincing himself that Delia had tried to use him to get to Henry. She'd been trying to help Henry! He could kick himself but first, he knew that he had to let Henry know what Delia had told him.

vvvv

Abe's Antiques ...

Jo, Henry, and Abe were enjoying a dessert of Chocolate Pots de Creme and coffee on the rooftop terrace as a delightful exclamation point at the end of their creamy spinach lemon chicken dinner. Jo had arrived, determined to get to the meat of Henry's secrets first but had had her questions waylaid by the meat in yet another of Abe's delicious meals. Whatever the two men were hiding, at least they always made sure that her appetite was optimally satisfied. But it was getting late and it was suggested that they all finish their dessert downstairs in Henry's basement laboratory.

"Seriously?" Jo asked. It surprised her, knowing how closely Henry guarded his privacy and had always spoken sparingly about the lower retreat.

"Yes," Henry replied after exchanging a nervous look with Abe. "It will provide the best privacy for us and - "

" - everything's all set up down there," Abe finished for him.

"Set up," she repeated. "Okay."

Gentlemen that they were, she ascended to the basement ahead of them with Abe bringing up the rear. She had been in it only a few times and never long enough to really study much of anything down there. The year before, when Henry had been a suspect in the subway crash, she'd left it up mainly to the CSU to comb through it and they'd produced an extremely odd set of possible clues like human body parts and what had at first appeared to be torture devices. During questioning, though, Henry had assured her that the devices were for sex. Her gut instinct, however, had always told her that they were actually torture devices and antiques of the grossest kind. And later that same year, she had found him there with the murder weapon used in the Richard Smight case. Thankfully, in neither case had he turned out to be the perpetrator.

Jo and Henry sat on a chaise lounge near his desk where Abe chose to sit. The desk was cleared of the usual items she'd seen on it before and instead had a pile of photo albums on it along with a small box of dark wood with what she recognized as the Morgan family crest on it. Abe had explained to her what it was when she'd seen it on a silver tray in the shop's retail area. She already knew from the subway crash case, that the box contained not only his current passport but a bunch of expired passports and IDs. Also, small bundles of large American bills and others of foreign currencies. The expired documents, she assumed, were merely evidence of his tendency to hoard, to hold onto things of sentimental value. It was only because he had been proven not to have murdered the subway conductor that the eccentric ME had been given a pass regarding the strange items found in his laboratory. Jo realized that she had so many questions for him that she didn't quite know where to start. So she decided to start with his newest gunshot wound to his arm and the scar from the earlier one that had somehow disappeared.

"Just tell me what's going on, Henry," she told him.

He pursed his lips and looked away from her then looked back at her, sighing deeply. "You expected to see that small, ugly scar on my arm from when Morris shot me. But you didn't."

"What happened to it?" she asked. How could it just have disappeared? Even the best cosmetic surgery would leave some kind of visible evidence that his body had been altered. And why take the trouble to have that little scar removed and not the larger one on his chest right over his heart? How, she asked herself, could he have even survived that chest wound?

He could almost hear her unasked questions. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath and released it. "It's ... gone. Like all the other scars that leave my body. All except this one." He pointed to his chest. "This is the only one that remains no matter what."

"I ... um ... don't understand," she said, blinking and shifting in her seat. "What do you mean it's the only one that ... ? Henry, please, just tell me what - "

Abe sat at the desk rolling his eyes up and cringing while observing the haphazard manner in which his father was delivering the news to Jo. "Not going well," he whispered to himself.

"It's the only scar that remains after I die!" Henry blurted out, breathing faster. "I am immortal, Jo."

"Im-imortal?" she asked, astonished. "But you just said that you die ... ?"

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Abe thrust a whiskey glass at her and she grabbed it and began gulping down its contents without a thought. Concerned, Abe stopped her before she'd finished half the glass and took it away from her.

"Hey, take it easy with that stuff!" Abe warned her. "No, you don't!" he told her, holding the glass away from her when she reached for it.

"I need that," she managed to say, her voice shaky and hoarse.

Abe placed it back in her hands and said, "Okay but ... sip." He shared a worried look with his father and brought the chair from the desk closer to her, sitting back down in it.

Jo took another sip from her glass of scotch knowing that Abe was keeping an eye on her. "Really, I shouldn't be that surprised," she chuckled. "It would explain a lot of things about you," she told Henry. She took another sip and gave the glass to Henry, who placed it on the small lamp table. "H-how long have you been this way?" She turned to look at him and asked, "I mean, were you born this way?"

Henry realized that he didn't know. "All I can tell you is that a few months before my 35th birthday, I died for the first time and ... " he paused, shaking his head. " ... and came back to life."

"Died and ... came, came back to life," she whispered. "When was that?"

Henry cleared his throat and replied, "In 1814."

"18 - that's over 200 years ago!" she exclaimed.

"I know, Jo," Henry said with a sigh. "Sometimes I think it would have been best if my life had truly ended that night. It would have spared me this long journey of which there seems to be no end."

"No, Henry," she breathed out, squeezing his hand. "Then we never would have met." Their gazes locked for a moment before she lowered her eyes to the Caller ID on her phone. She frowned as she answered it.

"Martinez ... Yes, Delia ... I'm afraid I'm tied up at the ... You're here? ... " She sighed, mildly irritated, well, really irritated at being interrupted with Henry finally shedding his secrets. Looking between Henry and Abe, she replied, "Alright," and ended the call, pocketing her phone.

"That was Delia," she told them. Their concern only deepened when she told them that Delia was at the shop's door with ominous news about Henry.

"How did she know I was here?" Jo asked, then quickly told herself, "Never mind. I forgot."

Henry rose from his seat and walked toward the stairs while instructing Abe to stay with Jo. "I'll go let her in," he said and left them. He felt Abe's accusing eyes on him as he ascended the stairs but he needed this break from the difficult task of telling Jo about himself. Just for a few minutes, he thought.

Delia waited anxiously outside the shop and perked up when she saw a figure approaching which the lighting from outside gradually revealed to be Henry. He opened the door and ushered her inside, locking it back, suggesting they go downstairs. She stopped him, though.

"Dr. Morgan. I called Det. Martinez after Lucas wasn't ... I mean I saw something about you." She paused to catch her breath. "It's all so fuzzy but, but I know it's you, Doctor."

He held out an arm toward the floor's open trap door and suggested again that they proceed to the basement. "Det. Martinez and my friend, Abe, are down there waiting for us."

"Okay, but ... " Her face began to crumble into a sorrowful expression.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned. "You're not this upset just because you saw something concerning me."

She attempted a smile and replied, "I really screwed things up." Her lower lip trembled on the verge of tears. He took out a handkerchief and gave it to her in case she needed it.

"Ah ... screwed up?" he asked, frowning in confusion.

"With Lucas!" she nearly wailed. "I know. I barely know him but he, he seemed like such a nice guy and ... I trusted him because you do and, and I tried to tell him but I ... I just screwed it up!"

"I'm afraid I don't quite under - ahhh, you like the young man," he said with a smile. "Lover's spat?" he asked.

"Kind of," she replied, her voice cracking. "I tried to tell him about my ability, the things I see and what I saw about you, that you might be in danger and ... "

Henry frowned at that last part but pushed concerns for his own safety aside at the sight of the upset young woman before him. Whatever the danger was, he could survive. "You trusted him with your secret and he didn't believe you," he stated.

She nodded and replied, "He thought I was pumping him for information on how to get next to you. But I like him and now he hates me!"

Henry frowned but this time with a smile broadening across his face. He hugged Delia with his good arm in an effort to comfort her. "There, there. I'm sure that things will eventually work out between you two." He thought about Jo sitting downstairs trying to cope with what he'd revealed to her about his own secret; about Nora's disbelief and Abigail's acceptance. He knew full well what Delia's inner turmoil must be like at that moment.

Just then they heard hard pounding at the shop's glass door. When they looked, they saw it was Lucas pounding with the side of his fist. Henry hurriedly moved to unlock the door, fearing he'd break the glass. As he drew closer to him, Henry realized that he'd never seen Lucas so upset. Angry, actually. He opened the door and reminded him that the glass was thick but not unbreakable.

"Yeah ... well ... sorry about that," Lucas hesitantly replied, motioning quickly toward the door and shoving his hands down into his pockets, hunching his shoulders. "It-it's just that I come all the way over here to warn you that you might be in danger because ... because ... "

"Because of what young Delia told you about me," Henry finished for him.

"Yeah. Yeah."

"You believe her, then" Henry stated further.

"Well, I thought I did but ... I mean I want to ... but now I get here and you guys are all pressed together with no daylight between you," a frustrated Lucas replied. He didn't realize that he'd crossed the threshold and that Henry was backing away from him as he moved further into the shop. He was uncharacteristically angered and upset which both Henry and Delia found disturbing.

"Lucas, Lucas, calm down," Henry advised him as he moved backwards. "It's not what you think."

"You already got Det. Martinez," Lucas loudly pointed out to him. "Isn't she enough boo for you?" he asked, causing Henry to frown in confusion at the term. "She's a boo and a half, Henry! You gotta take her, too?!" he asked, pointing at Delia.

"Now, you've got it all wrong, Lucas," Henry tried to explain to him. He stumbled back and bumped into the edge of a tall, wooden armoire, rattling the china collection inside of it. The sudden contact caused him to grunt in pain and grit his teeth.

"Lucas, stop!" Delia demanded, getting in between the two men.

"I'm not - " Lucas started to reply before being cut off by Abe's anxious voice.

"Hey! What's going on up here?" Abe demanded.

While Lucas tended to Henry to see if he was all right, they both talked over each other explaining that Henry had just accidentally bumped into the armoire. A beaming Delia suddenly shouted. The once-fuzzy images of a future event concerning Henry suddenly became clear in her mind.

"That's IT!" She laughed and looked around at all of them, Jo having joined them, as well. "I thought I saw you (pointing to Henry) being in some kind of danger, being attacked in some way but ... " She paused, laughing again. "It was _this_." She laughed and shook her head in relieved realization. Then she looked admiringly at Lucas.

"It was you coming here like a knight in shining armor to defend my honor," she said, smiling.

Henry looked wide-eyed and drop-jawed at Delia then at Jo and Abe. "There was no need for her honor to be defended. Not from me!" he loudly assured them.

"Of course, not," Delia replied to him but her attention returned to Lucas. "But you, Lucas, came here to fight for me."

Lucas shrugged uncomfortably then replied. "Yeah. I've been dumped before but - "

"I didn't dump you!"

"Er, uh ... okay, but this time ... being with you ... everything felt different. Real," he clarified. "Even for the short time that we spent together. Anyway, when I thought you weren't interested in me, I came over here to at least warn Henry of the danger you saw that he might be in." His face darkened a bit more again. "But when I saw you guys pressed together like a grilled cheese sandwich, that, that was the last straw. This boy lost it," he said, pointing to himself.

"You were awesome. Like, like when Robin Hood burst into the tower to save Maid Marian from the bad guy."

"I'm not the bad guy here!" Henry proclaimed defensively. Jo smiled sympathetically and wrapped her arms around his healthy arm. In a lowered voice, he repeated to her, "Not the bad guy."

"Oh, sorry, Dr. Morgan," Delia told him. "Poor choice of words. We both know you're not." She smiled at Lucas again and said, "But I still know who my hero is."

Lucas, proud but blushing, straightened his tall frame to an even taller height. "Copy that," he breathed out.

Abe cleared his throat to break the spell the younger couple had obviously fallen under. He thought they were cute and all but he didn't want them making out in the middle of his shop where everyone could see.

"Uh, Lucas," he began, "It's pretty obvious that you and your young lady need to talk some things over without us over-agers being in the way."

"Over-agers?" Jo and Henry asked him in unison. Abe shrugged off their apparent indignation.

"Oh, oh, oh, yeah, yeah," Lucas replied, getting his drift. He looked at Delia, who bobbed her head up and down in agreement as they began to move toward the shop's front door. They both apologized profusely, especially to Henry, for any inconvenience they may have caused.

"No problem," Henry told them. "Take care, you two."

Abe locked the shop's door and walked back to join Jo and Henry. He stood in front of them with his hands on his hips and asked if they wanted to return to the basement laboratory to pick up where they left off.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world," Jo said as she turned and walked ahead of them.

"Over-agers?" Henry again asked Abe.

"Well, it applies more to you," Abe wryly replied while Jo chuckled.

vvvv

He elaborated more on his condition, including his first wife, Nora, who hadn't believed him when he'd told her about his condition and had had him committed to an asylum.

 _"That must have been horrible for you, Henry. Sent to an asylum and then to a prison? Prison today is much more modern but still horrible. And then you had to ... to kill yourself to escape."_

How he met his second wife, Abigail, and baby Abe and how they'd adopted him at the end of World War Two.

 _"Ohhhhh, he's your son. How sweet! Never saw that coming, though."_

The truth about Abe's mother having lived under a handful of aliases, including that of Sylvia Blake, and the discovery of her remains in Tarrytown in late 2014.

 _"I'm so sorry the two of you weathered that terrible time alone."_

vvvv

Two hours later, Henry and Jo stood at the shop's front door.

"Wow. Some evening, huh?" Jo commented, chuckling.

Henry chuckled, as well. "Quite."

"Lucas and Delia make a cute couple, don't they?" Jo said.

"Yes, yes, they do," he agreed. Swallowing, he looked deeply into her eyes. "Thank you, Jo, for ... for believing me."

"Thank you for finally trusting me with your secret," she replied. "I can only imagine what you've been going through, Henry. But you and Abe are not alone in this anymore."

They stared at each other in silence for one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three. Then, Henry took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing them against her fingers. He held onto her hand, rubbing his thumb across her fingers. As romantic as that was, as much as it made her tingle head to toe, she could tell by his expression that there was something else on his mind.

Tilting her head to the side, she asked, "What are you thinking?"

He was thinking that he hadn't told her everything. Namely, about Adam; and the truth behind that nasty business with Clarke Walker, causing him to kill him. He lowered his arm, holding onto her hand, though, and replied, "My story is a long one," he said resignedly. "There's more that I have yet to tell you."

"And I definitely want to hear it, Henry," she told him. "But it's been a long day - "

"That it has," he interjected, chuckling and nodding.

"So ... I'll come back tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever you're ready," she told him. She then kissed him on the cheek, her hand caressing the other side of his face. They didn't pull away from each other, though, knowing that the longing for a moment like this had been building up between them for quite a while. Their eyes closed and their lips met in an excitingly warm, deeper kiss. He gently pulled her closer into a trembling embrace, their hearts beating faster.

Both of them were still painfully aware that they might be providing quite a display for those passing by so they reluctantly broke away from each other. He opened the door, and he watched as she got in her car. After she drove away, he closed his eyes and smiled at the memory of their first kiss, reliving the magic of it. Magic, he thought to himself as his eyes popped open.

 _'More like a miracle,' he said to himself. 'Jo and me. It was a miracle that we even met.'_

Rarely was he able to feel thankful for his long life spanning across centuries. But, in this case, it had allowed him to be able to meet the lovely Latina in this newest century. He made sure the door was locked and then walked toward the trap door leading to the basement laboratory. Abe's footsteps grew louder on the staircase as he ascended them. Henry watched him as he closed the trap door and smoothed out the rug on top of it.

"Everything's put away, Pops," Abe told him. "And congratulations on finally coming clean with my future stepmother."

"Abraham!" Henry exclaimed, startled.

Instead of reacting, Abe got behind Henry, directing him toward the stairs to the second level and said, "Let's go upstairs so we can look over some of my plans for your wedding."

"We can look over _your_ plans for **my** wedding!?" a flabberghasted Henry asked.

"Glad you agree," Abe facetiously replied with a mischevious grin.

vvvv

Henry's office at the OCME two days later ...

The file containing Norman Richards' autopsy lay open on Henry's desk. He'd read it cover to cover, including the toxicology report which showed he'd had prescription-level Tylenol with Codeine in his system at the time of his death. Not unexpected, since it was one of several drugs prescribed for pain. The autopsy report's detailed description of the extent of his arthritis was also not unexpected since Lorraine Harper had been the ME at the time. But there was something about the report that bothered him. Dr. Harper's observations were extensive and detailed, so why had she ruled the COD to be a self-inflicted wound? Clearly, Richards' deteriorated condition in his left hand would have prevented him from holding the gun and administering that fatal wound. If he had truly wished to take his own life, Henry asked himself, why hadn't he at least attempted it with his healthy, right hand?

"Deep in thought again," Jo said, breaking his concentration. "Have time to discuss something with me?" she asked, sitting down in one of the highback leather chairs facing his desk.

"All the time in the world, Detective," he replied with a smile. He chuckled when her right eyebrow twitched up and she shook her head.

"Okayyy," she said. "Nice to see that you're in a joking mood. I came to talk to you about that," she said, motioning her chin up, indicating Richards' file. He obviously had his own questions but chose to allow her to voice her concerns first.

"Lorraine Harper was one of the best, a credit to her profession," Jo said. "I didn't understand why she seemed to miss the call on the Richards case so I did some checking." She paused to pull a small notepad out of her pocket and flipped it open to a page.

"Apparently, the OCME had received several complaints from next of kin about some of her rulings."

"Not unusual," Henry pointed out. "It goes with the territory. Sometimes a surviving family member simply can't accept the cause of death for their loved one."

"But in 2000, she'd been diagnosed with liver cancer and three years later received a transplant. Before and after the transplant, she had missed work for quite a while."

Henry thought back to that time in the early 2000s and recalled Dr. Harper's valiant battle against the dreaded disease. "Luckily for her, the transplant gave her a new lease on life," he said.

"But her work may have suffered," Jo pointed out. "Some of those complaints resulted in a few COD's being changed," she said. "For one, an elderly couple in their late 70s. Originally, it was natural causes for her, suicide for him. The family asked for a further look at the wife's body and it showed that she'd been smothered in her sleep, presumably by her husband, who'd then shot himself in the mouth. Her COD was changed to murder by asphyxiation."

She flipped the page and continued to read. "And another, a family of four - husband, wife, four-year-old twin girls - killed when their van crashed into the back of a stalled big rig on the Saw Mill River Parkway near South Monsey Road. Original COD for the father, who was driving, was that he simply fell asleep at the wheel. A further investigation showed that because of a manufacturing defect that had caused carbon monoxide to leak into the cabin from a defective muffler, the driver and passengers were all rendered unconscious before the crash." She shrugged, pressing her lips together, and closed the notepad. "COD was obviously changed because of that."

"The toxicology report should have clearly shown that they'd succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning before the rush to judgment," Henry pointed out.

"Toxicology wasn't run, initially," Jo replied. "Seems that only after Dr. Harper's assistant ME, Malcolm Jones, insisted, that it was run." Jo shook her head. "Still, she rushed to rule on the COD before it came back." She looked at Henry. "Why?"

"I know," Henry said with a sigh. "Sounds more like the ramshackle way in which Dr. Washington operates, not a gifted, learned medical professional such as Dr. Harper was."

He darted his eyes back and forth and lowered them to Norman Richards' file on his desk.

"What is it?" Jo asked.

He turned one page over after the other, then picked up the autopsy report and his eyes widened as he frowned deeper. "Something bothered me about this report but I couldn't figure it out at first," he told her. She had left her seat and walked around to the other side of his desk and was peering over his shoulder.

"Look at the first three letters of her last name," he told her. "H-a-r. They appear to be written almost exactly as the first three letters in our esteemed colleague's first name."

"H-a-r ... ?" Jo repeated, confused. "Who's - ?" Henry cut her off before she could finish her question.

"Harold Washington!" he jubilantly replied.

Jo took the report from him and straightened up, studying it. "You're saying that he signed her name to these reports? Henry, that's just crazy! And, might I add, illegal. Why in the world would even a jerk like him choose to do that, and why would she have allowed it, knowing that they would be putting both their careers in jeopardy?"

"Dr. Harper retired in early 2010," Henry said. "She has to be in her 80s by now. I would hate to be the one to interrupt the quiet routine she has probably settled into, given her age," he added. "Perhaps we could conduct a quiet investigation on our own. See what we can see."

Jo closed the file and put it back down on the desk. "Maybe we could ask someone else to take a look at the situation to see what they see?" she said nonchalantly as she walked back to the chair and sat down.

"Someone who understands our need for keeping things ... quiet," he offered, matching her slight, self-satisfied smile.

Jo smiled and nodded to him, her right eyebrow arched up.


	7. Through a Child's Eyes Ch 7

_Jo took the report from Henry and studied it. "You're saying that Dr. Washington signed Dr. Lorraine Harper's name to these reports? Henry, that's illegal. Why in the world would even a jerk like him choose to do that, and why would she have allowed it, knowing that they would be putting both their careers in jeopardy?"_

vvvv

In a corner of the bullpen of the 11th Precinct, the Tip Hotline rang again and Officer Delia Beard answered it before the second ring, per her training. She already knew who was on the other end, though, causing her to take in a deep breath and release it before sighing out the generic greeting. Her sergeant happened to be walking by her desk and shot her a stern look at hearing her unenthusiastic greeting, forcing her to perk herself up. Or, at least, to appear to do so.

"How may I help you?" she asked more enthusiastically of the caller.

 _("They're back. You said not to worry about them, that the police would take care of them but they're back!")_

"Ma'am," Delia tiredly began. "It takes time to identify all of the ... aliens." She looked up to see Jo and Henry now standing in front of her desk. She stifled her laughter at their looks of surprise upon hearing her response to the caller about aliens. They looked at each other, then back at Delia, both of them frowning and, admittedly, curious about this conversation.

"And then they have to be questioned to be sure that they are ... truly ... aliens and ... which ones are the friendly ones," Delia continued haltingly with her eyes closed and her head shaking slowly side-to-side.

 _("I'm willing to make a statement to help you guys in any way I can.")_

"Thank you, Mrs - "

 _("Miss Scoggins. Bethany Scoggins.")_

"Thank you, Miss Scoggins. Goodbye."

 _("How will you contact me? Do you have my number?")_

"Oh, yes. We most definitely have your number."

Delia widened her eyes and hung up the phone, letting out a long-held breath. She looked up at Jo and Henry. "Hi. You two need my help? Please say you need my help," she pleaded.

Jo and Henry grinned at each other over the call that had just ended and Delia's plea to be released from phone duty. After getting the OK from her sergeant, Delia was relieved by another detective recently placed on desk duty while Internal Affairs investigated the firing of his weapon while off duty and at home.

"Thank you," Delia told them as she followed them into the elevator. "Thank you for saving me from that hotline and that poor woman who sees aliens."

"She sees aliens everywhere?" Jo asked, a chuckle wrapped around her question.

"Not everywhere," Delia responded. "Just when she's in line at Starbucks or at her bank's ATM."

The moment of silence was eventually broken by their combined bursts of laughter. They nearly stumbled out of the elevator, propelled by their laughter, and walked into the morgue and into Henry's office. As they passed by Lucas, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at them but remained hunched over the corpse of a middle-aged woman and clutching a clipboard to his chest. Delia smiled at him as she passed by and he winked at her.

Once inside Henry's office, the two women sat down in the upholstered, straight-back chairs facing his desk. He closed the blinds and locked the door before sitting behind his desk. Jo then took a pile of eight case files from Henry's desk and handed them to Delia.

"Can you try to, um, see what may have happened with any of these cases?" Jo asked. She purposely failed to share their suspicions with her or that the Richards case was in one of the files.

Delia positioned them on her lap as she looked from Jo to Henry, then down at the case files. "What is it you want me to see?" she asked. "These cases are all closed."

"Just ... whatever comes up," Jo replied, shrugging. As she had earlier with Henry and Lucas, she chose to withhold certain information from Delia so as not to taint the results.

Delia concentrated on the files and slowly lifted them one by one from her lap, forming three separate piles on Henry's desk. She remained silent and the look in her eyes told them that her mind was far away from them and her surroundings. Placing her hand atop the pile of three case files to the right of her, she closed her eyes and breathed slowly but deeply in and out. She did the same with the pile of three case files directly in front of her and then with the two files to the left of her. She lowered her head and brought her brows together as her hands hovered momentarily over each of the three piles before stacking them all into one pile. Her hands still resting on the files, she opened her eyes and stared at the files.

"There's something off about all of these," she stated. "The cases have been solved but ... "

Henry and Jo alternately eyed Delia and exchanged looks with each other as they waited patiently for her to continue.

"I ... I ... keep ... seeing a woman, an older woman ... No. She grows older as time passes," Delia said, correcting herself. "There's a man nearby most of the time ... He comes closer ... is closer to her as she grows older."

Delia closed her eyes in frustration with a side-to-side loll of her head. "Both of them have on ... " Her frown of concentration eased somewhat and her eyes opened. "They have on white lab coats." She looked at Henry and added, "Like yours." Her gaze roamed over his office and she continued. "They were working here as MEs. But she wasn't well. Pain. Medication. Lots of pain." Her breath hitched in her throat and she stiffened.

"The woman ... I see the letters L and H. The man, I see the name Harold." Delia frowned again, swallowed and rubbed her hands across the file on top. "I see them arguing ... he's taking the, the cutting knife, the scalpel, away from her." She looked from one to the other of them and told them, "He didn't want her there working. She insisted but she, she was making mistakes. Uncharacteristic for her but ... " she paused to laugh. "Seems it was quite the norm for him."

Jo and Henry bit their own laughter back at the insinuation of Dr. Washington's habit of always reaching for the low fruit to add substance to his quick COD rulings.

Seemingly released from her visions, Delia took in and released a deep breath, sitting back in her chair. "I saw a man's hand signing the autopsy reports in these files," she told them. "Even though she had been assigned to perform them. Whatever medication she had been on had worked to keep her pain level down but her concentration suffered. As a result, this guy, this other ME named Harold, may have tried to cover for her." Delia sighed resignedly. "Only he didn't do a very good job of it. These cases had to be redone, had to have a change of COD."

Jo shot Henry a quick look before asking Delia if she could describe Harold.

"No," she quickly replied, causing them to frown. "I couldn't see his face. Just his torso clad in the white smock from the neck down and down to his waist."

Jo wanted to ask if the cases had been reassigned to the ME she and Henry strongly suspected was Dr. Harold Washington, but decided against it, telling herself that it wouldn't have made sense for him to forge Dr. Harper's signature. Instead, she asked Delia if she could tell why Dr. Harper had not signed her own reports.

"Can't really get into people's feelings all the time but I kind of got the feeling that the other ME was trying to help her. He just wasn't doing a good job of it," Delia replied.

"Could you describe his hands, then?" Henry asked. He knew how Dr. Washington's hands looked because the man had pointed an accusing finger at him more than once during his time in the morgue. He also knew that Washington had lost the nail on his right thumb during a high school chemistry experiment gone wrong.

"His, his hands?" Delia asked, surprised. Then her features flattened out and replied, "Hairy." She chuckled and continued. "Nails filed down to the nubs but the cuticles ragged."

"All of his nails? And which hand did he sign with?" Henry asked. He knew that Washington was right-handed.

"Right hand," Delia replied. "Left hand spread out on the paper to maybe keep it from moving. And, um, all of his nails." A frown passed quickly over her face and left at her last utterance. Then, she leaned back in her chair and released a pent-up breath. "He had a healed circular wound in the fold of skin between index finger and thumb."

"The Purlicue," Henry stated, causing both Delia and Jo to hunch their shoulders in confusion at the word.

"Okay," Delia drew out. "Did any of that help?"

Both Jo and Henry assured her that it had and they both thanked her.

"Good. Good," Delia said and sighed before adding, "Guess it's back to the wonderful world of the hotline desk." She rose to her feet and looked down at the files. "Hope it won't get anybody in trouble here in the morgue."

"We hope so, too," Henry told her. But he knew that if what she had shared with them was true, then dear Dr. Washington did not forge the reports. Who, then?

vvvv

After Delia left Henry's office, he and Jo discussed what she had shared with them.

"Dr. Washington didn't forge the reports," Henry stated.

"He was there, though, supervising Dr. Harper while she performed, or tried to perform these autopsies," Jo said. "Maybe two people covering for her but botching things up along the way?"

"At least," Henry replied. "We have to find out who else worked with her on them."

"Her assistant ME," Jo offered as one possibility. But they both realized that there could have been several during those years. They decided to read through the case files again to see what they may have missed. Jo took the top file and sat in the chair previously occupied by Delia while Henry took the next file and opened it.

"How are you doing?" Henry quietly asked as his eyes remained fixed on the contents of the open file in front of him.

Frowning slightly, Jo replied that she was doing fine.

"I meant how are you doing after all that I shared with you about my life?" he clarified. He slowly raised his eyes to meet hers.

"Um ... well ... fine," she replied. "No. Good. I'm good," she stated more firmly.

"Are you ready to learn more?" he asked.

She tilted her head to the side and smiled. "Yes."

"Even if what I have to share may not be very pretty?"

Her smile dropped a bit, replaced by calm determination. "Whatever it is that you wish to share with me, Henry, I'm ready. I am so ready. I've been ready for a long, long time."

"Well, I did warn you that my story is a long one," he reminded her around a chuckle.

"I get that," she replied, smiling broader.

"I promise to try to exercise a little more, ah, self-control in the future, though," he said, referring to their recent kiss at the door inside the darkened shop.

"Oh, I'm not interested in your self-control, Mister," she teasingly replied. "You'll tell me the rest of your story and we'll see where things go from there." She feigned innocence as she resumed reading through the case file.

"Well, then, I very much look forward to it," he replied, a soft smile tugging at his left cheek.

They managed to give their attention back to reading through the case files and soon determined that Lorraine Harper's assistant ME was pretty consistently, a young man named Marshall Dinsdale. He had left the OCME shortly after Dr. Harper's retirement but Jo was able to locate him in his current position as a dental assistant in lower Manhattan.

vvvv

"Took you long enough," Marshall, a young man about Lucas' age, said to Jo and Henry as they questioned him outside the entrance to his workplace. "Am I under arrest?"

"Should you be?" Jo replied. "Forgery is a felony."

"Look. Dr. Harper was a legend. One of the best that had ever been, man or woman. But she got sick and, and started to lose it, ya know?"

Jo nodded for him to continue.

"Dr. Washington was kinda protective of her and, I guess, so was I. When she began to start missing things - some little, some big - he tried to help her out by pluggin' in some of the holes." Marshall paused to laugh but it and his sparkling blue eyes held no mirth. "He didn't get along with too many people there but he had a soft spot for her."

"You mean they had an affair?" Henry asked.

"No, no, nothing like that," Marshall replied. "He respected her and her work. Wanted her to go out with a bang instead of a whimper."

It was hard for either Jo or Henry to imagine Dr. Washington having compassion for anyone, let alone trying to help them.

"Why did you sign those autopsy reports?" Jo asked.

"He told me to," Marshall replied plainly. "Said it was okay since I was her assigned assistant."

Jo scoffed and asked, "And you believed him?"

"I dunno. Maybe," Marshall replied. "He said nobody would find out." He looked at them and sighed, rubbing his hand over the top of his closely-cropped brown hair and on the back of his neck. "Look, uh, if I'm not under arrest, I gotta go back in. Still on the clock," he told them.

"Ah, before we leave, may I ask why you signed Dr. Harper's name the way you did with the first three letters of her last name almost identical to the first three in Harold Washington's name?"

Marshall smiled and lowered his head. "Guess in case somebody did find out and ... I wasn't around any longer." He saw their sympathetic expressions and added, "Not around in the OCME anymore. I'm not dying. But the job was stressful. My doctor suggested a few years ago that I find a less stressful job so I traded dead bodies for bad teeth."

Jo and Henry exchanged a look and she gave Marshall her card before they left.

"Hey," he called to them as they left. "Washington still working there?" They replied in the affirmative and he scoffed, shaking his head as he entered his workplace again.

During the ride back to the precinct, Jo asked if they should inform the Lieutenant of what they'd uncovered.

"Or do we just let sleeping dogs lie?" Henry replied to her question with his own. "Not trying to tell you how to do your job, Detective, but as one who has benefited from ... less than authentic paperwork allowing me to obtain employment, citizenship status, and everything else that goes along with everyday living, I can't render an impartial verdict in this situation."

"Henry, I can appreciate how you feel about this particular situation but I can't keep information like this from my boss." She glanced over to see him in deep concentration with his brow furrowed. "Hopefully, she won't find it necessary to dig any further than we already have." She pulled up to the precinct and parked in her assigned spot. Turning off the car, she reiterated, "Hopefully."

vvvv

"Seems like this is a matter for you to bring up with your boss, Dr. Morgan," Lt. Reece told him after listening to their story. Her response both surprised and relieved them.

"As I told you once before, I have limited control over what goes on in the OCME," she told Henry. "But the cases do have the correct CODs, right?"

"Yes. Yes, they do," he replied.

"And the ME who performed the ... majority of the autopsy is identified on each of the reports, right?"

"Yes, that does seem to be the case," he replied again.

"And the signatures do reflect the correct name of the attending ME?"

"Right, Lieutenant," he again replied.

She raised her eyebrows and leaned back in her chair, keeping her eyes on him. "Then, perhaps there is no reason for you to bother your boss with any of this. If he's anything like me, he wouldn't want to expend any more resources on this particular set of closed cases. Especially since the smoking gun you two were hoping to find has once again eluded you leaving a certain troublesome ME still standing."

The detective and the Immortal ME left Reece's office. She waited until they'd closed the door and she snatched her cell phone from her pocket and quickly dialed a number. The fingers of her free hand drummed impatiently on the desk as she waited for the called party to answer. Once they did she hissed into the phone, "Dr. Washington. Get your ass up here to my office ASAP!"

 _("You have a lot of nerve addressing me in such an unprofessional manner, Madam! What right do you have - ?")_

"Lorraine Harper," she replied, cutting him off. "That name ring a bell?"

 _(silence and a muttered curse word)_

"My office. Five minutes." Reece ended the call and heaved a satisfied breath in and out. Was she going to enjoy this dressing down of the OCME's most troublesome ME.


	8. Through a Child's Eyes Ch 8

The door to Lt. Reece's office swung open after she'd acknowledged her latest visitor through the glass walls. A stony-faced Dr. Harold Washington stepped inside, closed the door and stood impatiently in front of her desk with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Have a seat, Doctor," Reece invited him.

"I'll stand," he stiffly replied.

Reece shrugged. "Have it your way. This shouldn't take long."

"It had better not. Unlike some others, my desk is weighted down with a heavy caseload," he sarcastically replied.

The insinuation that she may have less to do than he did was not lost on her. And, as usual, when interacting with this particular ME, it piqued her anger. She struggled to maintain her composure, though.

"Dr. Washington," Reece began. "You and I and most anyone else you interact with invariably end up butting heads."

"Your opinion," he tersely replied.

Reece opened her mouth slightly and turned her head away from him but pressed on through her frustration. She returned her gaze to him and said, "The opinions of most but I didn't call you in here to butt heads with you again."

"Called," he scoffed, unfolding his arms. "Ordered me up here as if you'd forgotten that I do not answer to you, Madam." He crossed his arms again and continued to look down his nose at her from his towering height. "Alright. Whether or not we butt heads, as you say, remains to be seen; but just why did you mention my former colleague's name? She's retired for the past nearly ten years."

"You tried to help her, didn't you?" Reece quietly asked him.

"Help her?" he replied, appearing confused at her question.

Reece merely shifted her already tilted head to the other side, raised an eyebrow higher and maintained eye contact with him. She wasn't going to waste words on him or rephrase her question which she knew he already understood.

The usually surly ME released his disdainful stare at her and focused on something on the wall above her head. "You really want to know about that?" he asked in a monotone voice.

"Doctor ... did you or did you not have someone to forge her signature to several autopsy reports several years before she retired in 2010?"

He remained silent.

"I'm sure you're aware that that is illegal, right?" Reece asked.

He turned and walked toward the door while telling her that any further questions could be directed to his attorney.

"There's no need for that, Doctor," she replied. "I just wanted to let you know that it's obvious that you and her assistant were covering for her those last years before her retirement." She watched him as he continued to stare at the door but lowered his outreached hand poised for the doorknob. He shoved both hands into the pockets of his white lab coat and finally turned around and walked back to one of the chairs facing her desk, lowering his long frame into it.

"Why would you do something like that, Harold?" Reece pointedly asked him. They were hardly on a first-name basis but her frustration and curiosity allowed it to just pop out. "Risk exposure and prosecution or worse?"

He pressed a balled up fist against his mouth and then sheltered his eyes with the same hand. Slowly raising his head up and lowering his hand, he kept his eyes lowered, as well. "She was one of the few colleagues who knew me. Really knew me. And treated me like ... " he paused, searching for the right word. "A friend. She was ... she fell ill and was fading fast from cancer. The only thing that could save her, the doctors said, was for her to have a liver transplant." He raised his eyes just a little to the level of her desk. "At her age, she was lucky to finally receive one. But the treatments before that and the medication she had to take after ... "

Reece studied him, realizing that he wasn't going to finish his statement. "You and her assistant ME felt compelled to plug up some holes for her on those reports," she said, finishing his thought for him.

Washington finally raised his eyes up to meet hers. He looked to her like someone who'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar but was still too unapologetically defiant to feel guilty. He knew that he was caught doing the wrong thing but was thoroughly convinced that he'd done it for the right reasons, therefore, he should have to suffer no consequences.

"What happens now, Lieutenant?" he asked tiredly, brushing a hand over the knee of his pants. "Are you going to dredge all of this sad business up just so you can finally get the satisfaction of seeing me in cuffs? Should I prepare for my mugshot? Don't forget to read me my rights."

"Can it, Harold!" Reece ordered him. "All I want to know is why. Why did you do it? You're not telling me everything." For the first time since she knew him, she was able to, at least in this case, see through that irritated arrogance, that air of superiority he always maintained and see ... what did she see? A man who deep down inside was really a nice guy; hiding under that veil of -

"I don't particularly like people, Lieutenant," he told her matter-of-factly, shattering her latest attempt at analyzing him. "Oh, I don't hate them, just don't have time for all the pettiness, all the little niceties expected of me in order to get anyone to cooperate even minutely with me to get things done. There are no gray areas in life, Lieutenant, only black and white. Right and wrong. I have little tolerance for those who choose to dwell in the gray areas looking for obscure reasons to prolong the agony of decision-making." He paused, crossing his arms again and looking away from her.

"My wife died of liver cancer before she could get a transplant." He spoke just above a whisper making her strain to hear what he was saying. He paused to swallow. "Watching Lorr- Dr. Harper go through the same thing ... " He paused again refusing to fully unmask his emotions. "I uncharacteristically found myself dwelling in one of those gray areas in order to help her maintain her stellar record." He looked up at Reece again and continued. "Guess I didn't do as good a job as I thought."

Reece studied him before saying anything. "Sorry to hear about your wife, Doctor," she quietly told him, genuinely sincere.

It was the first time that he or anyone else had ever spoken of any family for him. She recognized it now, though, the grief. He'd chosen to mask it in his own way. Different from how Jo handled her grief over her deceased husband or how Henry handled his over his wife having left him. She didn't know the full stories behind either of their losses but it was apparent that they chose to bury themselves in their work. Washington had taken another route in that his grief manifested itself in anger. Not wild, rampant, vengeful anger that was dangerous to himself and others; but the cold contained anger at God or the universe for having allowed such a thing to happen to him. And anger toward others who seemed to be dragging their own individual baggage of grief along better than he was. But Jo and Henry, much like Washington, seemed to work hard at maintaining an emotional distance from others. Perhaps, she pondered, they were afraid that they'd actually find happiness in new relationships but that happiness might eventually wipe out memories of their lost loves.

"Thank you," he replied although grudgingly, not used to saying those words to anyone for a long, long time. "I'd appreciate it very much if you would - "

"Not a word of this leaves this office," she interrupted him to assure him. She could see him visibly relax ... well, just a bit. Guess it was asking too much to get a smile out of him, though.

He left his chair and walked over to the door, placing his hand on the doorknob and said, "I suppose this means that you and I will not be butting heads as often whenever our paths cross from now on."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll still be doing that, Doctor," she replied.

Surprised, he snatched his head up to look over at her.

"Just might not hurt as much," she quietly added with a toothy smile. Smile from him in return? No? Guess not, she said to herself. But she did see a softening in those steel-grey eyes before he nodded slightly and left her office.

The entire bullpen had hardly been able to contain their curiosity while Dr. Washington conferred with Lt. Reece in her office. Jo, Henry, and Mike, especially wished to be a fly on the wall during that brief meeting. When Washington walked out of her office, they pretended to busy themselves in paperwork or conversation as he passed by them. Once they heard the ding of the elevator and its doors close, they relaxed. But only momentarily, for they heard Reece calling for Jo, Henry, and Mike to come into her office.

They fully expected (or hoped) that she would give them a blow by blow account of her exchange with Washington but she didn't. Instead, she merely acknowledged that the situation had been dealt with, causing Mike to scratch his head, realizing that he'd been left out of some kind of loop. He raised an eyebrow and cast a suspicious eye in the direction of his two partners, who conspicuously chose to concentrate on the Lieutenant, facing them and leaning against the front edge of her desk.

"I received a call from little Glenda Haley's grandmother this morning," she informed them.

"I do hope that she's still all right," Henry said, not wanting to ask if the girl had lost her sight again.

"Oh, she's fine, according to her grandmother; and making up for lost time being a happy little girl at school and at play," she replied. "Her grandmother wanted to relay a message to all of you, though."

They waited for her to continue but when she didn't, they exchanged a confused look with each other. And even more confusion passed over their faces when Lucas and Delia entered the office.

"Now. We're all here," Reece stated. "Mrs. Haley informed me that little Glenda can still see. She not only regained her sight but has retained her second sight. She hopes that you, Officer Beard, will want to help the girl learn to control her gift as you have your own." Reece tried but failed to hide a widening smile.

"She, uh, also wanted us to know that little Glenda doesn't want us to forget her when it comes time for the wedding."

"Wedding?" Jo asked, her brow creases forming. "What wedding?"

"She didn't say," Reece replied, walking back around her desk to sit in her chair. "Apparently, the images aren't clear enough for her to determine who the bride and groom are going to be. The only clues she has are seeing the outside of this precinct before seeing the couple's feet as they walk down the aisle, and smelling the groom's aftershave." Reece raised her shoulders and lowered them as she took in a deep breath and released it.

"Back to work, you guys," she told them. "We've still got a lot of other cases to solve."

As they filed out of her office and headed back to their work spots, they each processed the clues from little Glenda's vision that pointed to two people in their precinct.

Mike watched a wide-eyed and speechless Lucas and deeply frowning Henry disappear into the elevator. "Um, you know, the kid never met Lucas, did she?" Mike asked, attempting casual.

"And ... ?" Jo replied to his question with a seemingly disinterested question.

"Just sayin' that she had to get a whiff of the Doc's high-priced aftershave, right?" he asked, biting back a laugh.

"Um, I don't know if I remember any of that, Det. Hanson," Jo replied, logging back on to her computer. "But if you are trying to insinuate that - "

"C'mon, Jo, just kiddin'," he laughingly told her. "But, uh, you could do worse." He grinned broader when she gave him a really look. He calmed his features and told her, "Seriously, Jo. Doc's okay. You might wanna think about it."

In the elevator, Henry recognized a familiar scent, bringing him out of his own thoughts of a possible wedding in the future for him and the lovely detective. That is, if he were to believe in little Glenda's vision that the Lieutenant had shared with them. Once he and Lucas were back in the morgue, he paused next to Lucas' workstation and leaned toward him, taking in a huge whiff. Lucas leaned back and away from him, a bit confused.

"Wha-what's, uh, goin' on, Big Guy?" he asked. "I showered. I showered this morning, I promise you. Every morning," he told him.

"No, no, no, Lucas. That's not your usual aftershave I smell on you," Henry said.

"Yeah, uh, well, uh, yeah. I mean, no, it's not. While you were gone I ... kinda missed you so I took to wearing the brand you use." He cleared his throat and waited for Henry's response.

"Do you know what this means?" Henry asked him, his voice resonating just above a growl. Lucas vigorously shook his head from side to side.

"Since one of the clues regarding the mysterious couple in little Glenda's vision of them in a wedding is the groom's aftershave ... " he smiled as Lucas began to understand, too.

"Could mean that it's not just you but either one of us who could bite the dust soon," Lucas said.

"Bite the - ? Lucas, really. You make it sound like a horrible thing," Henry admonished him.

"Look, Doc, you might not mind puttin' a ring on it with Det. Martinez any time soon but Delia and I have just met. I mean, I don't know where this relationship will take us, especially given my sorry win/loss record. The Lonely Hearts Club not only seems to have me down for a lifetime membership, I'm president of my own personal branch!"

"You exaggerate, Lucas," Henry chortled. "Who says that that vision of a beautiful wedding isn't in your future?"

The two traded reasons as to why the other was the more likely groom in the wedding vision. Not that the idea of being so was totally unpleasant to either man, they just each felt that the women who held their affections could do better. Lucas felt that he had less to offer a woman as a life partner than Henry. Henry felt that he knew all too well why a man like Lucas, a mortal man who could grow old with the woman he loved - loved? Where did that come from, Henry thought. Well ... of course, he would have to love Jo if they were to be married ... He shook the improbable thought of them as a couple out of his head for he hadn't shared the greater part of his long story with her.

"Lucas, ah, let's just get back to work," Henry told him. "I'll be in my office working on some reports." He then walked into his office and began doing just that.

Lucas nodded and turned his attention back to his own paperwork wrapped around the latest issue of Slasher magazine.

Both men paused more than once, though, smiling through their own separate daydreams of a possible life with the respective lovely, intelligent, strong women in their lives.

vvvv

Henry's wound healed (normally) and he gradually shared more of his long story with Jo, including how Adam had invaded his life by being his actual stalker. And she was not only keeping his secret, but she was also writing her own chapters in his book of life, earning for herself an eternal bright spot in his heart.

The fact that little Glenda had had a vision of him and his first death made him uncomfortable. Jo and Abe, however, convinced him to sit down and have a talk with her, try to explain things to her the best that he could. Both to his wonder and surprise, she not only accepted the revelation of him being an Immortal but embraced it.

"It's okay, Dr. Henry. We both have a secret that others might not like to know about. It's good to know that you'll be my friend all my life, anyway," she'd told him with a big grin.

He returned her grin and replied, "You can count on me, little one."

Delia's visions of men who resembled him in several different time periods was another thing, though. He wondered how long it would take for her to put two and two together and realize the truth: that he was all of those men in her visions at different times in his long life. Again, Jo and Abe were the ones to comfort him by telling him that they believe he didn't have to worry about Delia. In their opinions, she was a new, true friend who also understood what it was like to harbor a remarkable secret from others for fear of what they might think of her.

And Officer Delia Beard? With Lt. Reece's help, she was eventually able to move from the Tip Hotline to patrol with an actual partner. Whenever she had a ... hunch ... she was sure to share it with either the Lieutenant, Jo, Mike, or Henry. And, of course, there was Lucas, her very special partner outside of the job.

Little Glenda was turning 11 soon and her grandmother was busy planning a birthday party for her at a local Cheesy Chuck's pizza parlor. There would be loud music, colorful balloons and decorations, games, prizes, presents, lots of candy and bad, greasy food, too-syrupy sodas and too-sugary ice cream treats for her and her new friends at school to enjoy. Bad food and pure fun for a few hours. The little girl, growing into a little lady, was overjoyed each day to wake up to a sighted world that helped greatly to offset the weird images that from time to time played across her mind. But she was looking forward to being a flower girl at that wedding she saw. And each time the vision manifested itself, she saw more of the couple. Question was, should she keep them updated or just let events unfold as they would? Anyway, that cake in the vision looked like it was going to be delicious!

vvvv

Author's Note(s):

Omitted is that Abe had also visited little Glenda and her grandmother and caught a reprimand from his father in Chapter 3. After Henry had shared with Abe about the little girl's "prophecy" of a wedding and that it might be either Lucas or him as the groom, Abe reminded his father of his own visit to little Glenda. So ... which of the three men will be the groom?


End file.
